Momentum of Fate
by Mornwey
Summary: RotS AU: Anakin has a different vision on his first night back in Coruscant. Ch14 up: Rumours of the threat against the independent traders are spreading - the crew of the Second Chance are worried.
1. The Council

**Summary: RotS AU – Anakin has a slightly different vision his first night back in Coruscant. But will it save him, or merely change the nature of his fall into darkness?**

**Fandom: Star Wars**

**Pairings: Undecided**

**Warnings: Violence, bad language, character death. And it may feature slash…all my fics do eventually.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Some dialogue lifted shamelessly from the film.**

**Chapter 1**

No-one would describe night on Coruscant as peaceful. Traffic streaked through the skies heedless of the darkness, music blared from the clubs and bars on the lower levels. However, the senatorial apartments did manage to acquire some degree of serenity…which was broken by a young Jedi Knight awaking from a nightmare with a cry of horror. Breathing fast and shallow, Anakin Skywalker sat up in bed and ran a trembling hand through his hair. He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it of the terrible images from his dream.

_A dream_, he reassured himself shakily; _just a dream_. But Anakin had never been much good at lying to himself, and he knew perfectly well that it was more than just a dream. It had been a vision.

Resigned to getting no more sleep that night, he swung his legs off the side of the bed and got a little unsteadily to his feet. His steps traced the familiar path to the balcony, and he leaned against the fountain as his eyes subconsciously traced the lights of passing vehicles. _Not just a dream. A warning._

"Ani?" a voice came from behind him, and he turned to see Padmé blinking sleepily at him; "Ani, what's wrong?"

"A dream…" he hesitated; "…like the ones I used to have about my mother. Just before she died."

Her voice quivered as if she was afraid to ask: "What did you see?"

"I saw…" his eyes unfocussed as he struggled to recall the details: "I saw the Temple. The Temple in flames…taken unawares by attack in the middle of the night." He closed his eyes, once again seeing flame flaring across his vision, the searing light of blaster fire, lightsabers flickering out one by one… He jumped at a sudden, unexpected touch on his forearm, and looked down into his wife's huge brown eyes.

"It'll be alright, Ani," she whispered, leaning against him and laying her head on his shoulder; "Come back to bed."

And how was he supposed to turn down a proposition like that?

**XxXxXxX**

Anakin was not normally the sort of person who was open about his feelings and fears. But this vision had shaken him more deeply than he was willing to admit, and it concerned the whole Jedi Order, not just him. Thus it was that early the next morning, he found himself seated in front of Master Yoda, while the tiny green Jedi studied him speculatively.

"Premonitions you say you have, young Skywalker. Glimpses of the future, hmm?"

"I believe so, Master," Anakin replied, forcing himself to be properly respectful and deferential.

"And what saw you in this vision of which you speak?" Yoda asked. Anakin looked down at his worn boots.

"I saw the Temple in flames, Master," he said, a little of the apprehension he felt seeping into his voice; "Clone troopers…gunning down younglings with their blasters. Thousands…thousands dying."

For a long time, Yoda was silent. He clasped his hands around the top of his stick and regarded the young Jedi before him over his stubby green fingers. Not for the first time, he wondered why the Force had chosen to place this burden upon Skywalker. Surely one more respectful of the Code, more at ease with the life of a Jedi, less volatile and temperamental… He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts, his pointed ears twitching. "Meditate on this, I will," the wizened little Master said thoughtfully; "If in danger the Order is, swift action we must take." Yoda narrowed his eyes at Anakin; "Late for Master Kenobi's briefing on the Outer Rim Sieges, you are."

Anakin was perceptive enough to know when he was being dismissed. Stifling a flicker of irritation at being so casually waved aside, he rose and bowed: "Thank you, Master."

Anakin walked quickly down the echoing corridors, the rhythmic thudding of his boots setting up a swift tempo which neatly underscored his thoughts as he headed for the Briefing Room. Sithspawn – with everything else going on, he'd completely forgotten about the briefing which was to take place. It was already over by the time he got there – people were leaving. Anakin swore under his breath and continued into the room. Obi-Wan was shutting down the projector, clearing away the data disks. He glanced up on hearing Anakin enter; "You missed the report on the Outer Rim sieges.

Anakin shrugged: "I'm sorry, I was held up. I have no excuse."

"In short, they are going very well," Obi-Wan told his former Padawan, shutting down the last of the equipment; "Saleucami has fallen, and Master Vos has moved his troops to Boz Pity."

That was good; Anakin had always rather liked Quinlan Vos, and had actually had a rather embarrassing crush on Quinlan's Padawan, Aayla, when he was fifteen. Something about the blue-skinned Twi'lek had always made him get- Anakin realised he was getting distracted…_very_ distracted. Noting that Obi-Wan still seemed worried, he asked; "What's wrong, then?"

There was a pause before Obi-Wan replied; "The Senate is expected to vote more executive powers to the Chancellor today."  
"Well, that can only mean less deliberating and more action," Anakin said, unable to see the problem; "Is that bad? It will make it easier for us to end this war."  
"Anakin, be careful of your friend Palpatine," Obi-Wan said patiently, but not without a little sharpness in his tone. A lesser man would have been very frustrated by the younger man's apparent naïveté by now. True to his nature, Anakin sounded genuinely confused when he replied: "Be careful of what?"

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment, internally debating whether or not informing his former Padawan of he latest development. Eventually he said somewhat reluctantly: "He has requested your presence."  
"What for?

"He would not say."  
"He didn't inform the Jedi Council?" Anakin said in confusion; "That's unusual, isn't it?"  
"All of this is unusual, and it's making me feel uneasy," Obi-Wan replied, starting to get a little frustrated; "You're probably aware that relations between the Council and the Chancellor are stressed."  
"I know the Council has grown wary of the Chancellor's power," Anakin retorted; "Mine also for that matter. Aren't we all working together to save the Republic? Why all this distrust?"  
"The Force grows dark, Anakin, and we are all affected by it," Obi-Wan warned; "Be wary of your feelings."

_Yeah, whatever_. Anakin was sorely tempted to say something to that effect, but managed not to. People thought he had no self-restraint, but they would probably have been even more worried had they known that the reckless and hotheaded nature they were familiar with _was_ Anakin with substantial self-restraint. They didn't know the half of how bad he really was. So Anakin exercised that self-restraint: he bowed perfunctorily and left the room again.

The walk to the Chancellor's Office was not a particularly long one on a planetary scale…but Anakin took his speeder anyway. Whether this was due to impatience or laziness was open to debate.

**XxXxXxX**

Some time later, Anakin made his way back to the Temple in a daze. The Council! He was on the Council. He would be a Master…the youngest Master in the history of the Order, if he was remembering the little he'd retained of his history lessons rightly. It was incredible…

Still…he doubted the current Council members would be pleased. Master Windu in particular wouldn't be happy. Anakin was glad that he would be spared the ordeal of informing the Council himself. He parked his speeder outside the Temple and walked inside. He wondered when the Council would be told he was to join them.

Little did he know they had already been told, and were discussing what to do at that very moment.

"I don't like it," Mace Windu said bluntly; "The boy has no place on this Council, and Palpatine has no right to tell us who to take on."

"I agree, but we must be diplomatic," Ki-Adi-Mundi, present only in holographic form, said placatingly; "It would be unwise to alienate one of our strongest and best-known Jedi in the middle of a war."

"That still doesn't alter the fact that-"

"We could use this situation to our advantage," Eeth Koth interjected; "Having a member of the Council – even one in name only – so close to the Chancellor could be _very_ useful."

"Master Koth makes a good point," mused Ploo Koon, who was also visible as a hologram; "After all, we have been looking for a way to keep a closer eye on the Chancellor's private dealings…And now, as his 'representative', Skywalker has a perfectly good reason to take an interest in such things."

"Unsure of this, I am," Yoda said, shaking his head. He had thus far been silent, listening to the debate, but now he finally spoke; "Headstrong young Skywalker is, yes, but not without morals. Like the idea of spying, he will not."

"He is too much under the influence of the Chancellor," Mace Windu said; "Keeping an eye on Palpatine is a sensible precaution, but Skywalker will not see it that way."

"Master Kenobi, you know him best," Ki-Adi-Mundi said in an attempt to settle the argument; "How would you advise we handle this?"

Obi-Wan was silent for quite some time, every eye trained on him as he considered his answer. They needed someone to spy on Palpatine for them, this much was true, but…Anakin looked up to the Chancellor. Force only knew why, but he did. Asking him to betray – and that was how Anakin would see it – a man he respected would put the young Jedi under more strain than he could cope with. "It is true that Palpatine has…too much influence on Anakin," Obi-Wan said slowly; "It would not be…wise…to invite trouble by asking this of him. We should not contest the appointment, but I think it would also be a mistake to make Anakin a Master so soon." _His ego needs no further fueling_; "In the meantime, keep him away from Palpatine as much as we can without arousing suspicion."

"Agree with Master Kenobi, I do," Yoda said firmly; "Send for Skywalker we shall, and of our decision inform him."

"We should be prepared for a very negative reaction," Mace Windu warned the other Jedi.

"Surprise you, young Skywalker might," Yoda said cryptically.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. To Utapau

**Wow! I was surprised – but very pleased – by the response I got on chapter 1 of this. So here's another chapter – enjoy! Expect chapter 3 by Wednesday.**

**Chapter 2**

Outwardly, Anakin Skywalker appeared perfectly calm. It was a side-effect of all the training he'd endured and battles he'd been through: he was able to appear completely in control while inside he was having a panic attack. The Council hadn't actually spoken to him yet, but from the tone of the summons to the Council he had received, they were pissed. So here he was, waiting in the vestibule outside the Council Chamber, as jittery as a tauntaun in a gundark nest. It was odd – he'd done worse before, but a meeting with the Council had never made him so nervous. Perhaps it was something to do with his vision… The door slid open. Anakin took a deep breath to calm himself and walked inside.

"Anakin Skywalker," Mace Windu said gravely as the young man took his place in the centre of the circular room; "We have approved your appointment to the Council as the Chancellor's personal representative."

Anakin felt a wave of relief wash through him; "I will do my best to uphold the principles of the Jedi Order," he replied dutifully. But something wasn't right…there was something they weren't telling him. He could feel it.

"Allow this appointment lightly, the Council does not," Yoda said, narrowing his eyes; "Disturbing is this move by Chancellor Palpatine."  
"I understand." Anakin looked straight back at the old Master, his feeling of unease growing.  
"You are on this Council," Mace Windu told him; "But we do _not_ grant you the rank of Master."

That stung. Anakin stared back, dumbstruck for a moment as anger and indignation swept through him; "What? How can-" The vision of the Temple burning flashed through his mind again. He couldn't anger the Council, not now; they couldn't face whatever this threat was divided. "I will abide by the will of the Council," he said through gritted teeth, forcing himself to calm down.

If he'd been open to the feelings emanating from the Council members instead of concentrating on calming himself, Anakin would have felt the surprise – even shock – coming from the older Jedi. Not because of his initial outburst: they had been expecting that. But the amount of self-restraint he had just shown was something no-one had been prepared for. Obi-Wan sat back in his seat, feeling a mixture of pride and relief, while Yoda just smiled knowingly. The rest of the Council were in varying degrees of shock: but none more so than Mace Windu, whom you could have knocked over with a feather.

"Take your seat you may, young Skywalker," Yoda said, gesturing towards an empty seat with his stick.

"Thank you, Master," Anakin responded, composing himself. He sat down with relief. He felt oddly hot and cold at the same time, and he realised he was trembling. He let out a shaky breath and returned his attention to the Council.

"We have surveyed all the systems in the Republic and found no sign of General Grievous." The silence was finally broken by Ki-Adi-Mundi expertly changing the subject.

"Hiding in the Outer Rim Grievous is," Yoda said thoughtfully; "The outlying systems you must sweep."

"We do not have many ships to spare," Obi-Wan pointed out.

"What about the droid attack on the Wookiies?" Ki-Adi-Mundi added.

"It is critical we send an attack group there immediately," Mace Windu said firmly.

"He's right," Obi-Wan agreed; "It's a system we cannot afford to lose."

"Go, I will," Yoda said decisively; "Good relations with the Wookiiees I have."

"It's settled then," Mace nodded; "Yoda will take a battalion of clones to reinforce the Wookiiees on Kashyyyk. May the Force be with us all."

With that, the Council meeting was over. Anakin got up and left quickly before he could be accosted, not particularly wanting to speak to any of he Masters. Well…except maybe one. And that one caught up with him in the corridor downstairs.

"I'm impressed, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. The younger man glanced suspiciously sideways at him, trying to work out whether or not he was being sarcastic: "Why?"

"Well, you showed unusual self-control in there," Obi-Wan grinned; "I once trained a young Jedi who would have exploded under the same circumstances."

Anakin laughed ruefully; "I think maybe that young Jedi is starting to grow up a little."

**XxXxXxX**

Chancellor Palpatine was a regular patron of the opera, as much of Coruscanti high society knew well. However, he found himself somewhat distracted from the current performance. The cause of his concern – a feeling the Jedi Council were all too familiar with by now – was Anakin Skywalker.

Blast him, the boy wasn't behaving at all like he was supposed to! He didn't seem to be reacting at all to the visions he was supposed to be receiving. The hotheaded young Jedi Palpatine knew would have been instantly up in arms at the thought of his wife dying, but Anakin had shown no signs of that. What in the world was going on? "Tell Skywalker to get over here now," Palpatine – known to some as Darth Sidious – told his aide irritably. He would get to the bottom of this. Perhaps the boy was stronger-minded than he'd given him credit for.

The thought that his induced visions were being overruled by genuine ones didn't even occur to him.

**XxXxXxX**

"Palpatine thinks General Grievous is on Utapau?" Ki-Adi-Mundi said in surprise.

"A partial message was intercepted in a diplomatic packet from the Chairman of Utapau," Anakin explained. This was the second Council meeting in as many days, and already Anakin was wondering why he'd ever wanted to be on the Council. It was unspeakably boring.

"Act on this, we must," the hologram of Yoda said; "The capture of General Grievous will end this war. Quickly and decisively we should proceed."

_The Chancellor has requested that I lead the campaign_. Anakin considered mentioning this, but thought better of it. The Chancellor had been acting…oddly. Anakin was starting to suspect that the Council might have reason to mistrust Palpatine.

"Master Kenobi should go," Ki-Adi-Mundi recommended.

"If it is the will of the Council," Obi-Wan said.

"Isn't it dangerous to send just one Jedi against an enemy as strong as Grievous?" Anakin protested. Yoda and Mace Windu exchanged looks – both were thinking of their earlier agreement that Anakin should be kept away from Palpatine as much as possible.

"A fair point you have, young Skywalker," Yoda agreed, much to Anakin's surprise; "Go to Utapau with Master Kenobi you shall. Anything more to discuss, have we?"

"No," Mace Windu said; "Meeting adjourned."

Anakin and Obi-Wan walked out of the Council Chamber together, the former with a sense of exhilaration, the latter with one of concern. They would have little time to pack whatever essentials they would need before going to find a ship. Anakin looked thoughtfully at his former master: "What's Utapau like?"

"I've never been," Obi-Wan said; "But I hear it's hot, dry…you should be right at home."

"Wonderful."

"There is _some_ water, though. It's just all underground. Some of the deeper sinkholes reach the water table – that's where the cities are."

"So, not many to search?" Anakin said hopefully.

"Not as many as there could be."

"That isn't an answer."

"Isn't it?" Obi-Wan countered. Anakin gave up.

Less than half an hour later, they were both on a Clone Army gunship, headed for where the new Star Destroyers were docked. Thousands of clone troopers swarmed everywhere, readying the ships for takeoff. Depending on your point of view the sight was either awe-inspiring or absolutely terrifying.

The gunship touched down in a flurry of dust and the two Jedi disembarked. Unerringly they made their way through the labyrinthine docks towards the Star Destroyer to which they had been assigned. "She'll do nicely," Anakin murmured, running an experienced eye over the massive ship. Obi-Wan – who could only tell one end of a ship from the other with the aid of an astro-droid – made a vague noise of agreement and led the way on board.

"Commander Cody," Obi-Wan greeted the leader of the detachment of clones; "Are we ready to take off?"

"The pilots should be getting the order to lift off any moment now," Cody replied in the distinctive accent all the clones seemed to have acquired from somewhere.

Obi-Wan and Anakin followed Cody through the twisting corridors of the ship towards the hangar where the smaller fighters were kept. The stark, utilitarian walls vibrated gently and the floor tilted slightly as the ship took off. Then came the strange, vertigo-inducing moment where the artificial gravity and the planet's gravity started working against each other. Obi-Wan paled a little and muttered something which sounded remarkably like 'this is why I hate flying'. Anakin grinned. Soon enough the ship was out of Coruscant's gravity well, and the artificial gravity could work unopposed.

"Your fighters are over there," Commander Cody said, gesturing towards the far end of the hangar. Far off, the rumble of the ship's gargantuan engines began to fall in pitch, indicating that they were coming to a standstill. He pointed at a holographic display of Utapau; "Fortunately, most of the cities are concentrated on this small continent here, on the far side."

"We'll keep them distracted until you get there," Obi-Wan said; "Just don't take too long."

"Come on, when have I ever let you down?" Cody asked, feigning hurt.

"Very well," Obi-Wan conceded. He climbed up the wing of his fighter and into the cockpit.

"We'll make sure to leave some droids for you," Anakin reassured the clone commander with a cocky grin, hopping into his own fighter. On that note they fired up their engines, and the main airlock slid open. The two fighters streaked out into open space. "Are you sure you have the co-ordinates properly programmed?" Obi-Wan asked over the comlink.

"Master, I've been flying since I was tall enough to see over the control panel," Anakin replied with exaggerated patience; "I know how to set hyperspace co-ordinates."

Obi-Wan chose not to dignify that comment with an answer. The two ships linked up with their respective booster rings, ready for the hyperspace jump to Utapau. Anakin glanced out of the transparisteel view-screen at Coruscant and frowned as a sudden wave of apprehension flooded through him. Something was about to go horribly wrong – he could feel it.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**


	3. Grievous

**I'm going to try to update at least weekly from now on, but if my muse co-operates it could be more frequent **

**Chapter 3**

Darth Sidious was angry – his plans were starting to go awry.

No, that was something of an understatement. Darth Sidious was in a towering genocidal fury, because the carefully-crafted schemes he'd been working on for most of his adult life were coming crashing down around his ears. Not only had that infuriating Skywalker boy failed to seek his help in 'saving' – and he used the word _very_ loosely – Amidala, the senile fools on the Jedi Council had _actually_ sent the insufferable brat to Utapau.

What the devil was going on?

He steepled his fingers and gazed thoughtfully into the distance. Fact One: Skywalker had no knowledge of the threat to his wife's life. Fact Two: He had displayed a surprising loyalty to the Jedi Order. Fact Three: He was currently heading for Utapau with his old master to kill General Grievous. And with Grievous dead, the Senate would vote to end the war. Unless…

Sidious gave an evil smile. He knew exactly what to do.

**XxXxXxX**

"So, where to first?" Anakin asked brightly, looking down at the expanse of Utapau beneath them. Obi-Wan paused, listening to what the Force was telling him.

"There. That one," he replied, sending the co-ordinates of the chosen city to Anakin's flight computer; "We'll start there." He waited for and acknowledgement, a reply of any sort – even an objection would have been welcome as the silence dragged on – but there was only crackling static. "Anakin? Anakin, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Master, it's just…" Anakin's voice was tense and strained; "I have the proverbial Bad Feeling about this."

"'This' being the mission, the city, or life in general?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Anakin gave a humourless laugh: "All three, I think."

They brought their fighters down through the atmosphere of the planet. Anakin's sense of apprehension diminished as he looked out at this new planet with interest. The thing he liked most about being a Jedi – aside from the Force powers, which he had to admit were pretty cool – was the sheer number of strange new worlds he saw. One of the things about him which hadn't changed, and probably never would, was his basic curiosity. Many years ago in a scruffy slave-boy on Tatooine, it had manifested as an insatiable desire to take apart mechanical components to see if he could figure out how they worked – and, more importantly, how to put them back together again. Now it had just found a different outlet.

The two spacecraft descended almost vertically down the sinkhole around which the city was built, and touched down lightly on a landing platform. Seeing Obi-Wan climbing out of the cockpit, Anakin followed his old Master's lead. As a ground crew hurried over to examine their vessels, they were greeted by the tall, dignified Administrator of the city.

"Greetings, young Jedi," the Administrator said; "What brings you to our remote sanctuary?"  
"Unfortunately, the war," Obi-Wan replied.  
"There is no war here unless you've brought it with you," the alien replied a little sniffily, blissfully unaware of the deadly glare Anakin shot at him. Obi-Wan ignored the slight with characteristic diplomacy.

"With your kind permission, we should like some fuel and to use your city as a base as we search nearby systems for General Grievous." Only the slightest stiffening and hiss of breath betrayed the Administrator. He gestured abruptly for the ground crew to refuel the ships before leaning in closer and lowering his voice.

"He is here! We are being held hostage. They are watching us."  
Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged glances. "We understand," Anakin said eventually.  
"The tenth level...thousands of Battle Droids..."  
Obi-Wan nodded; "Tell your people to take shelter. If you have warriors, now is the time."

As the Administrator turned to leave again, the two Jedi returned to their ships, talking in low voices. They gave almost identical orders to their respective astro-droids before slinking unnoticed into the shadows. The ships flew off without them as they darted almost invisibly up a flight of stairs cut into the rock face.

"Tenth level?" Anakin asked quietly.

"Up there," Obi-Wan said, pointing; "Though how we're supposed to get up there I'm not so sure…"

"The rock face is rough," Anakin observed; "It shouldn't be too hard to climb." Obi-Wan eyed his former padawan dubiously, but he couldn't come up with anything better. He nodded curtly and Anakin grinned.

Anakin closed his eyes and concentrated on the Force, doing his best to radiate a sense of 'I'm not here'. He felt Obi-Wan doing the same beside him. Prepared, invisible to the untrained eye, they began the long climb. The rock face was indeed rough. It should have been easy to climb, but it had a tendency to crumble at inopportune moments, so every handhold had to be tested before any weight was trusted to it. Somehow they made it to the tenth level without any major mishaps. Carefully the two Jedi crept out along a metal beam far above where Grievous was ranting at the Separatist leaders about something or other.

"So now what, do we just drop down and start fighting?" Anakin said sarcastically, and very nearly experienced a premature heart attack as Obi-Wan nodded slowly and replied; "Yes, that might work."

"Master, that's the sort of plan _I'd_ come up with!" Anakin protested. _Wait a minute, possibly not the best argument…_

By this point it was too late, as Obi-Wan was already in he process of jumping off the beam. Anakin followed with an irritated sigh. Honestly, his master was behaving like…well, like him. Which was extremely unfair, since it was Anakin's job to behave like Anakin. Forcibly bringing his wandering mind back to the subject in hand, he vaulted off of the beam and landed beside Obi-Wan.

"Hello there!" Obi-Wan said brightly.

"Nice party you've got here," Anakin added; "Sorry to crash it."

Grievous whirled furiously: "Kenobi and Skywalker," he spat; "A bold move. But a useless one – surely you realise you are doomed. Destroy them!"

There was a cacophony of guns being cocked all around them and oh _Sith_ that was a lot of battle droids. Anakin was quite sure there hadn't been that many before they'd jumped down. Oh well, too late for that now. He and Obi-Wan ignited their lightsabers and dropped into fighting stances as Grievous' elite guards advanced on them, electric staffs crackling. Obi-Wan gestured, and a large fixture fell off the ceiling, crushing them. He casually beheaded one which was still struggling as the two Jedi walked past on their way to where Grievous stood. Hundreds of battle droids leveled their guns at them, but Grievous had other plans. "Back away!" he snarled, "I will deal with this Jedi slime _myself_."

"Ooo, bad choice," Anakin said with fake sympathy.

"Your move," Obi-Wan told the cyborg cheerily.

"You fools," Grievous sneered, shrugging off his cloak; "I have been trained in your Jedi arts by Count Dooku!"

"Yeah, and look what happened to him," Anakin smirked. Grievous snarled at him and sprouted an extra pair of arms, igniting not two but _four_ lightsabers. He advanced on them, striking up sparks as he came. The battle began with blaster-fire flying everywhere. The Clones had finally arrived.

Grievous was good, there was no denying that. But he was no match for two fully-trained Jedi. The battle was intense, violent, a deadly dance of glowing blades. It was also very short. They got their breath back as the Clones mopped up the remnants of the droid army.

"Well, it's over," Anakin said, prodding the corpse with his foot.

"We should get back to Coruscant as quickly as possible," Obi-Wan said; "Cody should have sent word back by now that we've killed Grievous." Anakin nodded wearily, and they began the walk back to where the Clones had landed their ships. He couldn't help but smile. The war was all but over: he could go back to Coruscant and be with Padmé without being constantly called out all over the galaxy…

_Blaster fire…pain…death… Clone troopers marching into the Temple, killing all in their path. Clone troopers gunning down their Jedi commanders. Beacons of life winking out one by one. And Palpatine, his face twisted in evil glee, presiding over it all. "Execute Order Sixty-six."_

Anakin cried out in pain at the horrible intensity with which the vision hit him. He stumbled, sagging against the nearest wall for support, holding his head. Through the chaos of screams and gunshots roaring in his ears, a worried voice got through to him, a sudden reassuring presence as strong hands gripped his shoulders: "Anakin! Anakin, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

He clutched at his master's arms like a drowning man would a rope. He shook his head desperately; "No, no, it's not me, it's everyone! Something awful is about to happen…dead, they're all going to die! Betrayed, we've been betrayed…"

"Anakin, calm down, you're babbling," Obi-Wan said patiently, soothingly, drawing the younger Jedi back from the brink of complete panic. But when Anakin looked up at him with a sudden dreadful clarity in those bright blue eyes, what he said next almost sent him over the edge himself.

"Chancellor Palpatine is about to order the Clones to wipe out the Jedi. We're all going to die."

**-Cue dramatic music-**

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**TO BE CONTINUED**


	4. Remembering Jabiim

**You guys are great – I spent ages staring at the computer screen grinning like an idiot when I read all the reviews for the last chapter. Have another one.**

**Just a heads up, it might be a while before I update again – I've got exams next week.**

**Chapter 4**

Obi-Wan gaped in a manner most unbecoming of a Jedi Master; "What? Why? Anakin, that doesn't make sense!"

Anakin stared at the ground for a long moment, his mind working furiously; "Palpatine wants control of the Senate," he said slowly; "But the only reason he's stayed in office this long is because of the war. With Grievous dead, the war is over. He has no excuse to stay in power…"

"But with the Jedi out of the way, no-one would be strong enough to remove him," Obi-Wan finished grimly; "Of course. It's true what Dooku said then – the Chancellor must be under the control of the Sith Lord."

"No, that doesn't make sense either," Anakin said absently, concentrating on the memory of his vision; "When I saw Palpatine…he wasn't being _forced_ to destroy the Jedi. If anything he was enjoying it."

"You realise what you're saying, Anakin. If Palpatine isn't being _controlled_ by the Sith Lord…"

"He _is_ the Sith Lord. Yes, I know."

Obi-Wan stared at him in despair: "Then what can we do?"

"I need to get to my ship," Anakin said suddenly, and took off at a dead run.

By the time Obi-Wan caught up, Anakin was already perched on the wing of his fighter, doing something complicated to the transmitter. R2 bleeped something at him, and he frowned. "Blast, still out of range?" he muttered, and turned to pry off a panel next to the engines. Some creative rewiring apparently satisfied him, and he glanced over at the eccentric little astro-droid; "Now?" More bleeping; "Good."

"Anakin, what are you doing?" Obi-Wan said, almost crying with exasperation; "This is a crisis – it's no time for you to be tinkering with your ship!"

"You know, there's a very interesting device – sort of a distress beacon – in the Temple," Anakin said, completely ignoring him. He hopped into the cockpit and started pressing buttons rapidly; "It has the frequency of every single Jedi comlink, and in times of crisis it can transmit a coded message directly to all of them, no matter how far away they are. Now, if you happened to send a message _directly_ to it with the proper access codes, it would retransmit it immediately. Ordinarily it would be very difficult to get a message to Coruscant from this far out, but I've boosted the transmitter. What do you think?"

Here he gestured towards the screen, and Obi-Wan climbed onto the wing of the ship to get a better look. The message was surrounded by a string of incomprehensible machine-code which Anakin assured him meant the beacon would think his message was genuine, but the important part boiled down to three sentences: _Palpatine is a Sith. Clones are now a threat. Seek shelter immediately._

"How in the world do you know all this?" Obi-Wan asked suspiciously.

"Trade secret, master. Shall I send it?"

"Yes."

**XxXxXxX**

Felucia was an odd planet. Admittedly there were many strange things in the galaxy, but Aayla Secura still felt on some instinctive level that mushrooms should not be eighteen feet tall. And as for the _wildlife_… Her comlink beeped and she glanced down at it absently. The text-message symbol was flashing. She pressed a couple of buttons and froze as the message scrolled across the screen, panic sweeping through her: _Palpatine is a Sith. Clones are now a threat. Seek shelter immediately._

Slowly she raised her eyes to confirm that yes, she _was_ still surrounded by Clone troopers armed to the teeth with the best and most lethal technology the Republic had to offer. Oh, kreth.

"Aayla?" someone said softly. She looked up to see Barriss Offee staring at her own comlink with a look of quiet horror; "Is this genuine?"

Aayla looked again at the highly-trained Clone army all around them. "I really hope not," she murmured.

**XxXxXxX**

Ki-Adi-Mundi skidded to a halt and set his back against a wall, panting for breath. The battle of Mygeeto was at its fiercest; droids and clones being destroyed all around him, and the Cerean Jedi was exhausted. Taking advantage of the brief respite, he lifted the comlink which had been beeping insistently at him. The message he read there made his blood run cold: _Palpatine is a Sith. Clones are now a threat. Seek shelter immediately._

"Are you alright, sir?" one of the clones asked him. The Jedi stared back with a growing sense of fear.

"Yes, I…I'm fine," he managed. _For now_.

**XxXxXxX**

When her comlink first beeped, Luminara Unduli didn't even notice. Battle was raging fiercely not far away as the Separatists and the Republic fought for control of Kashyyyk and she was busy healing the wounded. Her comlink beeped again, and she subconsciously registered it as she healed a blaster burn in a Clone trooper's leg.

By the time the thus-far ignored comlink had come to her full attention, she was tired and irritable with no patience for whoever was trying to contact her. She switched it off and moved on to the next patient.

After all, how important could it be?

**XxXxXxX**

Mace Windu gaped at the message he had just received, completely at a loss about what to make of it. He knew Palpatine was manipulative and untrustworthy, but…a _Sith_?

But then again, the more he thought about it the more sense it made. The blockade of Naboo apparently arranged by the Sith Lord had resulted in Palpatine becoming Chancellor. The Separatist forces knowing _exactly_ where to find him. Every seeming coincidence he brought to mind seemed to add support to this theory. But the idea that the Republic had been under the sway of a Sith Lord for thirteen years…it was too horrible to contemplate. If Palpatine was the Sith Lord, something would have to be done immediately.

For the first time in his life, Mace Windu desperately hoped he was wrong.

**XxXxXxX**

All over the galaxy, from Alderaan to Zabrak, similar scenes played out. Shell-shocked Jedi slowly began to realise just how hopelessly surrounded by Clones they were, while those who had lost or ignored their comlinks carried on in blissful ignorance of the fate that awaited them.

"We've done all we can," Obi-Wan said; "Come on, Anakin, we need to get back to Coruscant and explain ourselves to the Council in person." Despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't help but smile faintly; "I'm sure Master Windu will be thrilled to hear you've bypassed the Temple's security measures _again_."

"It's their own fault for not having better security," Anakin shrugged. He fired up his engine and the cockpit sealed with a pneumatic hiss.

"I doubt they'll see it that way," Obi-Wan said from his own fighter, the conversation continuing over the comlink. He pressed another button; "Cody, we're needed back on Coruscant. Can you handle things here?"

"_No problem_," Cody replied; "_Take care of yourself_."

Obi-Wan swallowed an inexplicable lump in his throat; "Goodbye."

The two small ships lifted off the landing pad and rose into the clear skies over Utapau. Obi-Wan wasn't sure what season it was on Utapau, but it was hotter than the height of a Coruscanti summer. He wondered what high summer on Tatooine was like… unpleasant, probably. His flight computer fed out a series of possible hyperspace trajectories, and he picked one that would bring them out at the very edge of the system. "Use these co-ordinates, Anakin," he said, sending them over; "If it all kicks off while we're in hyperspace, we don't want to come out right in the middle of a battle."

Anakin made a vague noise of agreement over the comlink. There was a faint, rhythmic tapping, and Obi-Wan knew than Anakin was drumming his fingers on the console. After a while the drumming stopped and he said quietly; "This feels like Jabiim."

Obi-Wan suddenly felt very cold. Jabiim…Jabiim had been a nightmare.

Jabiim was a dreary, rain-soaked world over which they had fought bitterly earlier in the war. Dozens of Jedi and tens of thousands of Clones had died defending Jabiim from the Separatists. Obi-Wan had been captured by Asajj Ventress and declared missing in action, presumed dead. With commanders dropping like flies, leadership of the hopelessly outnumbered Republic forces had fallen to Anakin.

Obi-Wan could only imagine how Anakin – then only a padawan – had felt, leading a massively outmanned and outgunned force into a battle they couldn't possibly hope to win, standing in a trench knee-deep in mud and blood and filthy water, believing his Master dead. He had never spoken of it again, but for months afterwards he had been plagued by nightmares of that desperate last stand. He had truly believed he was going to die there.

Jabiim had fallen. And Anakin was the only Jedi to make it out alive.

"We won't let that happen, Anakin," Obi-Wan promised; "This won't be another Jabiim. This time we'll win."

"I hope so," Anakin said, and his fighter sped up to link with a booster ring. Obi-Wan followed at a more sedate pace, and gave a weary sigh as the stars blurred into the dancing blue lights of hyperspace. He could promise all he liked that this wouldn't be another Jabiim…but frankly he wasn't so sure himself.

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	5. It Begins

**Sorry it took me so long to update. I've had exams, and the past week has been hellish…and then I saw Pirates of the Caribbean 3 and was viciously attacked by a swarm of rabid plot-bunnies…and well, long story short, the universe is conspiring against me. Again.**

**Chapter 5**

They came out of hyperspace on the edge of the Coruscant system, which looked disquietingly normal. There should have been something, _anything_ out of place, something to even hint at the sheer scale of the atrocity which was about to take place. They did their best not to call attention to themselves, but it was difficult – both were gripped with a sense of urgency. The two ships streaked towards Coruscant as fast as their pilots could force them to go.

"We're not too late," Obi-Wan said in relief as they entered the planet's atmosphere. There below them was the Jedi Temple, completely peaceful and reassuringly _not_ aflame. Anakin gave a non-committal sort of grunt and angled his ship towards the hangar.

For all its peaceful exterior, an air of panic hung over the Jedi Temple. Quiet and subdued panic, true, but panic nonetheless. The few Knights and Masters remaining hurried back and forth, talking urgently in hushed voices, while confused and frightened Padawans milled around aimlessly.

"Oh," was all Anakin said.

"Yes, this _is_ your fault," Obi-Wan agreed with a half-smirk; "We'd better find the Council before they find us."

Their booted footsteps echoed in the vaulted corridors as they made for the Council Chambers. No time to observe propriety given the circumstances – they walked straight into the room, interrupting Master Windu and several holographic Masters in the midst of a heated debate.

"Skywalker," Mace Windu said coolly, the first to recover some poise; "I suppose we can assume that you are responsible for this?"

"Yeah, that's right," Anakin replied, matching his icy tone. He was in no mood to be looked down on today of all days.

"And what in the galaxy makes you think you can make accusations like this without informing the Council?"

Oh Sith, how Anakin would have liked to make him eat those words. The image of the Master choking to death on his own self-importance was an extremely pleasing one. But with what he considered to be monumental self-control, Anakin swallowed his resentment and recounted the visions he'd been having. The Council members' reactions ranged from cautious acceptance to outright scepticism. Obi-Wan would have probably called what followed a spirited debate. Anakin called it vicious bickering.

**XxXxXxX**

Darth Sidious paced his office impatiently, pausing in his stride frequently to glance at the chrono. He frowned at the time – they were behind schedule. If he didn't know better, he'd suspect the cloners on Kamino of sending him faulty goods. The Commander of the 501st should have returned by now.

A Clone trooper walked purposefully into his office and saluted smartly; "Everything's in place, sir. We're ready."

"Good. Now go and await my signal – it is critical that you are in place at the right time. And remind your men I want him _alive_."

"Yes sir."

Sidious paused thoughtfully; "Of course that doesn't mean you can't rough him up a little…"

"Yes sir."

The Sith Lord dismissed the Clone with an imperious wave of his hand and settled into the chair behind his desk with a satisfied smile. Everything was falling into place, and this plan would serve as well as – if not _better_ than – the old one. He reached out and pressed a button on his comlink.

"The time has come… Execute Order Sixty-Six."

**XxXxXxX**

In the Council Chambers, the discussion broke off instantly as the shockwaves of Jedi deaths reverberated through the Force, gathering speed and momentum as they traveled before crashing like a tidal wave into the shocked survivors. Everyone in the room simultaneously stiffened and some even cried out in pain. Several of the holograms disappeared as their owners abruptly became one with the Force.

"Believe me now?" Anakin spat, breath coming in harsh gasps. Completely ignoring him, Mace Windu slammed his hand down on the control panel for the chamber's comlink. "Report!"

There was an endless moment of nothing but static, then a weak voice issued from the speakers; "This is Aayla Secura; injured but alive. Barriss Offee is with me, she's unconscious. Our Clone Troopers opened fire on us…"

"Master Yoda this is," another voice said, and Mace relaxed visibly; "Uninjured I am. Helping me get off planet the Wookiees are. Killed, Master Unduli has been."

"Quinlan Vos, alive and pissed off – would someone like to explain what the kreth is going on?"

Other voices answered the call as well, angry and frightened, asking for explanations. Asking what they should do now. No-one seemed able to find an answer to that, but they were saved the necessity of doing so when an explosion blossomed across the sky off to the west. The entire Temple seemed to tremble, and distant screams rang out.

"What was that?" Anakin demanded, along with several other Jedi over the comlink.

"I think we're under attack," Obi-Wan replied, looking down from the dizzying height of the Temple Spire to the streets far below; "Clone Troopers are advancing on the Temple."

Mace Windu paused, looking as if what he was about to say pained him greatly; "Go into hiding," he told the waiting Jedi, scattered on a hundred planets across the galaxy; "Keep in touch with as many other Jedi as you can, but trust no-one else. Do not, I repeat, _do not_ return to the Temple under any circumstances." Not giving anyone any chance to protest, he switched from the outgoing link to the Temple's internal speaker system; "All Knights and senior-level Padawans to the Hangar. _Now_."

He strode out of the room without another word. Obi-Wan and Anakin exchanged glances before hurrying after him, through the empty corridors again, towards the Hangar. When they arrived there were three Knights and perhaps twenty senior Padawans waiting there. A few stragglers arrived at the back of the crowd as they gathered around the three Council members.

"The Temple is under attack," Mace said, ignoring the gasps and murmurs that rippled through his audience; "We have thirteen ships with enough capacity for passengers. I want volunteers to evacuate as many of the younglings as possible in these ships – don't raise your hands yet, I'm not finished – and another seven or so to accompany me in their fighters and provide cover for the larger ships. The rest of you will go with Master Kenobi and Knight Skywalker to hold off the attackers long enough to let us get the younglings out. Any questions?"

"Who's attacking us?" a nervous-looking adolescent Twi'lek asked.

"Clones…" he cast a sideways look at Anakin and added grudgingly; "We have reason to believe that Chancellor Palpatine is either a Sith, or under the control of one."

"Where do we go?" The speaker this time was the youngest of the Knights, a dark-haired male human.

"As far from the Republic as you can," Mace replied; "The Outer Rim, preferably. Now we don't have a lot of time. I want the twenty best pilots ready to leave five minutes ago, and the rest of you covering the entrances to buy us as much time as you can. Have your fighters warmed up now so you can get out as quickly as possible once we've left."

After some hurried discussion, the crowd split neatly into three groups. Mace Windu sent most of the pilots to get the younglings, and stayed with the handful left to start up all the ships. He looked up to where Anakin and Obi-Wan were leading those who had elected to stay and fight out of the Hangar.

"May the Force be with you," he called. Knight and Master both bowed. _May the Force be with us all_.

**XxXxXxX**

The last dying rays of the sun set fire to the skies over Coruscant and sent angry crimson light spilling through the doors of the Jedi Temple. Silhouetted against the gleaming silver spires of the city-planet and outlined in glowing red light, a group of Jedi waited in silence. The tramp of boots hitting the ground in perfect unison grew louder, closer, as the Clone Troopers of the 501st approached. The fading sunlight turned their white armour a vivid, bloody red.

"We don't have to hold them off long," Obi-Wan reassured the pitiful handful of Jedi he was to lead into battle. Frankly he wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure them or himself; "Just long enough to give the others a chance."

"Jabiim," Anakin murmured from just behind his right shoulder. He appeared deceptively calm – _too_ calm, anyone who knew the young Knight would have said.

As the sun set over the Temple, the small group of Jedi stood firm before the advancing army of clones: each and every one of them prepared to die as dusk bathed them in light the colour of blood.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Short chapter I know. See excuses above.**


	6. Evacuation

**Sorry for not updating in so long. My Muse was viciously and unexpectedly kidnapped by the Harry Potter fandom.**

**Chapter 6**

The first shot fired was a brilliantly glowing blaster bolt from one of the Clones in the front line. It streaked across the ever-decreasing distance between attackers and defenders, where it was intercepted by an incandescent green lightsaber and sent back the way it had come. Beyond this, however, no-one noted its progress, as it was only the first of hundreds more that followed close behind it. Clones fell, but their advance was inexorable. Still the tiny defending force of Jedi held firm.

"Close up," Obi-Wan ordered from his position in the centre of the line; "When they start to get past us, we'll spread out and start leading them into the Temple – we'll have the advantage in familiar territory. Remember to keep them away from the dormitories and the hangar."

Any reply was made impossible as the Clone Troopers closed on them, and the fighting grew more intense. The line didn't hold for long. They spread out and got in amongst the enemy, indiscriminately killing anything that didn't have Jedi robes. As the battle raged, Anakin let go and allowed the Force to guide his movements. Block high, turn, parry, duck, a swift stroke over his left shoulder at head height, and he turned once more and leapt over the decapitated corpse as it fell. That dizzying mixture of adrenaline, excitement, and primal terror swirled around in his chest and leant new strength and speed to his movements as he lost himself in the thrill of combat. He knew that for a Jedi, his love of battle came dangerously close to an addiction. In theory he was supposed to avoid 'aggressive negotiations' unless absolutely necessary, and not enjoy them when they were. But that had never stopped him.

The first to die was a red-haired human female of barely seventeen. A blaster bolt hit her right wrist and knocked her lightsaber out of her hand; unable to defend herself, she was hit by three more in quick succession and fell, dead before she hit the ground. A second death followed not long afterwards, and Clones began to break past the defenders. It was difficult to tell in the chaos of the fight, but Obi-Wan judged that perhaps fifteen minutes had passed since they had left the hangar. Not enough time, not nearly enough. They had to hold the Clones off for at least twice that to give Mace enough time to get everyone out.

"Break!" he shouted; "Back into the Temple!" They couldn't hold the attacking force off in the open for long: they were too badly outnumbered. But in the labyrinthine corridors of the Temple, which every Jedi living knew like the back of their hand – or whichever equivalent appendage for the alien species – they would have the advantage over Clones who had never been inside the building before. The remaining Jedi scattered like a flock of startled birds, and the Clones immediately charged after them.

Obi-Wan sprinted down a long corridor with a deadly hail of blaster bolts flying all around him. Whether by luck or the Force he didn't know, but not a single one made contact as he made his retreat. He chose a completely random and erratic route through the maze of side-corridors, and led the pursuing Clones a merry chase. The line between staying out of their reach and staying close enough that they didn't go off in search of another target was a thin one, and he was very careful not to cross it. He was too badly outnumbered to risk a direct confrontation.

"Mace!" he hissed urgently into his comlink; "Are you almost ready? We can't hold them off much longer."

**XxXxXxX**

If the Temple had been full of panic before, the air in the Hangar now was one of grim determination. The ships' engines were purring softly as they awaited their pilots. Older Padawans and the few remaining Knights patiently shepherded the frightened and confused children into ships, while others ran last-minute checks on the ships and the older children helped load them up with supplies. Mace Windu supervised the whole operation, and despite the desperate circumstances he felt a sense of satisfaction at the air of quiet purpose with which the Jedi worked: for all his stern and distant demeanour, he was proud of them.

The sounds of battle were faintly audible in the distance, although they seemed to be drawing closer. From the nervous looks sent at the doors and the increasing speed with which they worked, Mace suspected he was not the only one who didn't want to be here when the Clones arrived.

"Alright, everybody listen for a minute," Mace called; "Try to be as inconspicuous as possible: that means civilian clothing, lightsabers hidden, and for Force's sake cut off your padawan braids. Try to ditch the Jedi ships as quickly as possible – they're very distinctive. The Outer Rim is your best chance. And always remember: trust no-one except other Jedi. Keep in touch with as many others as you can. If, Force willing, we find a way to stop this, we need to be able to find everyone. Good luck everybody."

The stream of new refugees arriving had thinned to a trickle. Pilots were climbing into their cockpits, ready to go at a word, as old friends exchanged farewells. The older ones knew perfectly well they might never see each other again in this life. Mace rubbed his forehead wearily and climbed into the cockpit of his own fighter. He could say without exaggeration that today had probably been the worst day of his life. He gave a start of surprise as his comlink crackled.

"Mace!" Obi-Wan's voice sounded urgently; "Are you almost ready? We can't hold them off much longer."

"Not long now," Mace reassured him; "Five minutes at the very most." Most of the Temple's residents were away on duty due to the war. Although this made evacuating easier, Mace didn't want to even wonder how many had died that day when they could have been – comparatively – safe in the Temple.

"I am not sure if we can give you that long."

"How far in have they gotten?" Mace asked with a worried frown.

"I'm not sure. I don't think any are past the Training Rooms yet, but I can't say for sure without knowing how many we've lost or even-"

"Five," another voice interrupted, and Mace managed not to groan as Anakin joined the conversation; "Out of eleven. And another two injured. I think tha-"

He broke off abruptly, and Mace heard blaster-fire and shouting in the background. Clearly, unlike Obi-Wan, Anakin had not found a moment's respite in which to talk. He realised that the rhythmic interference in the transmission must be due to the comlink being jostled as Anakin ran.

"Anakin, are you alright?" Obi-Wan asked, and Mace could hear the anxiety for his former Padawan in his voice. The only reply was the hum of a blaster bolt, shockingly loud as it swept past the comlink. There was a startled cry, and the distinctive sound of Anakin swearing. From the tone of his voice, Mace decided he was glad he didn't understand Huttese. More running, and the shouts became fainter.

"I'm okay," Anakin said, his tone a little pained; "One of them clipped me, but nothing major. They've reached the maintenance levels – you've not got long. Get out of here." Mace stood in his cockpit and shouted the order to take off. Cries of affirmation reached him briefly before he sealed his cockpit. In tight formation, the Jedi fleet soared skywards, dodging Clone gunships and shooting down any they couldn't avoid.

"We've left," Mace said into the comlink as he banked sharply to avoid a shot; "You've done your part, now get out before you get killed."

"Affirmative," Obi-Wan agreed; "Anakin?"

"I'm pinned down," the younger Jedi replied tightly; "Listen, if we can't get out together, I'll meet you where we agreed in six weeks time, okay? Just get yourself ou- Sithspit!"

The sounds of blaster fire were growing louder, and the interference became more pronounced again as Anakin ran for it. Explosive sounds came from all around him from blaster bolts which had missed, and he hissed in pain as one grazed him with a noise of fabric singeing. Then there was the unpleasantly fleshy sound of a bolt hitting home, and he made a soft sound almost like a whimper. There was a loud _thud_, and the sound of booted footsteps growing closer.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan cried frantically; "_Anakin_!"

Silence.

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	7. Yes, Master

**A short chapter, yes, but an extremely pivotal one. Enjoy! And try not to hate me…**

**Chapter 7**

Anakin awoke, and was aware of pain.

That couldn't be good. He carefully stayed still, his neck beginning to ache as his head hung limp. His breathing remained deep and even. There was a searing pain in his left arm and lower back where he'd been hit by blaster bolts, and he didn't even want to _think_ about the line of agony painted in fire across the right side of his face. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, forcing his shoulders round at an uncomfortable angle, and he couldn't feel his fingers. It felt like he was tied to a chair. He heard breathing from his left; Clones, two of them by the sound of it. Probably flanking a door

The last thing he remembered was running from a squad of Clones and being shot in the back. Any amount of time could have passed since then, anything could have happened…which begged the question of why he was still alive. There was the faint sound of a door sliding open followed by soft footsteps muffled by carpet. Anakin managed not to tense and give himself away, but it didn't seem to help. "Oh, stop playing dead, boy, you're not fooling anyone," a familiar voice said impatiently. Anakin's head snapped up and he found himself staring at Palpatine. Or rather, Darth Sidious. There was something a little odd about his vision, and Anakin realised he couldn't open his right eye. Trying resulted in a wave of pain that threatened to make him black out. With his good eye he looked calmly up at the Sith Lord standing over him.

"Chancellor Palpatine," he said evenly; "You're looking well."

"Oh it's _Emperor_ Palpatine now," the man replied with a smirk. Anakin didn't miss the flicker in his eyes; Sidious hadn't expected him to take this so calmly.

"Surely you mean Emperor Sidious?" Anakin played his trump card and was rewarded with a moment of shocked fury.

"Clever boy," Sidious said softly when he had regained his self-control; "I didn't expect you to work it out so quickly. But then again, you haven't been reacting at all according to my plans lately."

"Yeah, I often have that effect on people," Anakin replied flippantly; "Is there a reason for me being here, or did you just want to scold me for messing up your plans?"

Palpatine regarded him in silence for a moment, then nodded to one of the Clone Troopers. The white-armoured Clone stepped forward and cracked Anakin across the side of the head with his blaster and Anakin saw stars, the world swimming before his eye. A blinding headache was building at the base of his skull, one potentially severe enough to prevent him from focusing enough to use the Force properly.

"Now Anakin," Sidious said in a paternal tone, leaning closer; "I'm sure you appreciate how easy it would be for us to kill you. But there is the better way. Ever since you killed Dooku, I've been looking for a new apprentice. You would be more than satisfactory."

"I'd sooner die," Anakin spat. Sidious looked blank, and Anakin realized he was so rattled he'd slipped into Huttese. He repeated the sentence in Basic. Sidious gave a sly smile.

"I thought you might say that," he said smugly; "But there are other lives you value rather more highly than your own…" He waved a lazy hand and a surveillance hologram flickered into life. It was a bare prison cell, and sitting in the middle of it was Padmé, pale with fear and trembling with fury. Anakin drew in a sharp breath before he could stop himself. As he watched she drew her knees up and hugged herself, rocking gently back and forth.

Sidious walked around the chair, taking a vicious satisfaction in the pained look on Anakin's face, and leant down from behind to speak softly into the young Jedi's ear; "You can refuse to enter my service if you wish. But if you do, it will cost you her life. She will die slowly, in terrible pain, taking your unborn child with her. You will be made to watch her as she is tortured, able to do nothing, and just before she dies I will tell her that you could have saved her but chose not to."

"You bastard," Anakin whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him.

"Now I'm not an unreasonable man," Sidious continued as if he hadn't heard; "You were always meant for the Dark Side, Anakin. Turn and she will be spared. You will have everything you desire. You will be able to openly be with your wife and child, as you always should have been. Simply bow to me, and every other sentient being in the galaxy will bow to you…"

At that moment, Anakin couldn't have framed a coherent answer even if he'd had one to give. His mind was a scrambled, dizzying mess as a minor civil war broke out between his principles and his instincts.

The problem was that no matter how hard he tried to justify either one of the paths open to him, he ran up against one of two immutable, irreconcilable facts. The first instinctive line of thought went something like; _if I join him, I can save Padmé, she'll be okay…_ And no matter how ingenious the sophistry he came up with to justify this course of action, it invariably encountered the steel door of; _but he's a Sith_.

However, when he tried approaching it the other way – _he's evil, he opposes everything the Jedi order stands for, he's been manipulating the Senate for years_ – this common sense made little headway against the deep-seated emotional reaction provoked by the simple truth; _but I have to save Padmé_. His thoughts were running in circles, and frankly it was starting to make him feel dizzy. But in the end, it was a simple choice. No matter what the cost, no matter what humiliation and disgust the very thought of serving the Sith lord provoked, he couldn't let Padmé die.

Anakin bowed his head, defeated. The words choked him, but he forced them out anyway for lack of any other option.

"Yes, Master."

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**


	8. Reflections

**Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. But I honestly do swear I'll try to update more regularly.  
**

**Chapter 8**

Winter was starting to make its presence felt in one of the shabbier districts of Coruscant, an icy wind sweeping through the narrow streets as rain poured from the dismal grey sky. Obi-Wan wrapped his tattered fourth-hand jacket more tightly around himself and burrowed his hands deeper into his pockets. Sith, but it was freezing. He'd never realized before just how warm Jedi robes were in comparison to normal clothing.

Resolving to acquire a pair of gloves at the earliest possible opportunity, he tugged his scarf up higher to hide most of his face and scanned the street for a shop to lurk in.

Three weeks had passed since the attack on the Temple and the horrors of the Jedi Purges, and the newly formed Empire was in turmoil. With the sudden and mysterious deaths of their leaders on a fiery moon named Mustafar, the Separatist army was in disarray. The sudden collapse of their military power had resulted in minor civil wars breaking out all over the galaxy. The imperial forces had taken swift and merciless advantage of this: on all the central systems, the Empire's power was absolute. The outer rim was still more or less free, and would always be more so than the core, but the Empire's arm was lengthening all the time. Soon nowhere would be safe.

Rumours of all sorts of atrocities were circulating. Clone Troopers patrolled the streets of Coruscant at all times, and those who dared oppose them were mercilessly crushed. But most worryingly of all, the self-proclaimed emperor had an apprentice, a frighteningly powerful young Sith who went by the name of Darth Vader. He had appeared seemingly from nowhere and been put to work hunting down the surviving Jedi. Mere days ago, Ki-Adi-Mundi had been brought back to Coruscant and publicly executed. Obi-Wan had watched the vidcast on the huge public screens with mesmerized horror, unable to look away. That was the first time he'd seen Vader: a menacing figure clad in black and red with his face concealed, only the gleam of a sharp yellow eye visible in the darkness of his hood. And if there was anything familiar in the way he held himself, Obi-Wan's subconscious determinedly ignored it.

There wasn't much point in staying on Coruscant any more; better to disappear to one of the backwater worlds on the Outer Rim. He would wait another few weeks to see if Anakin made the rendevous and then leave the planet…with or without Anakin, as circumstances dictated. In the meantime, he would lie low in the planet's poorer areas.

Every time he approached a door, he got a filthy glare from the shopkeeper and felt compelled to back away again. In the end he set his back against a grimy grey alley wall next to a young male Twi'lek smoking a death-stick, and closed his eyes briefly, fighting an insidious feeling of bone-deep weariness. For the past fifteen years the Republic had staggered from one crisis to the next, barely holding together. And now it had finally fallen. After thousands of years, the mighty Galactic Republic was no more. Still it surprised him how little life had changed for the dregs of society. Down here, in the very lowest levels of Coruscant, life went on much as it always had. The government had always ignored the lowest of the low, and that was unlikely to change now they had an Emperor rather than a Chancellor.

The rain was falling heavily now and the meager protection afforded by the walls of the alley did little to keep the rain off him. He slipped out of the shadows, darting from doorway to doorway in an attempt to reach his destination as dry as possible. It took twice as long this way, but at least he wasn't _quite _soaked to the skin when he stepped into the reception of a shabby boarding house. A subtle wave of a hand convinced the receptionist that he had not only paid but also tipped generously, and he was handed the keys to a room.

In a tiny room in a disreputable boarding house in the poorest and most miserable part of Coruscant, Obi-Wan Kenobi stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror over the filthy sink and wondered what the hell had happened to his life. The Order which he had devoted his life to was no more. The Republic he had sworn to defend had fallen.

_I just hope Anakin's alright_, he thought; _if he isn't, I'll have lost everything…_

**XxXxXxX**

Darth Sidious was in an excellent mood. In fact his mood had been uncharacteristically good all week, since the satisfyingly painful execution of that captured Jedi council-member. Despite some unforeseen obstacles, in the end his plans had come off beautifully.

He admitted that he hadn't envisaged things working out quite as they had. But the current circumstances would serve as well as any others. The Amidala female would have her child soon, and given the father it was likely to be very strong in the Force. That was an unexpected benefit; one which would not have been possible if everything had worked out as planned. And once the child was born he could dispose of the infuriating woman without losing his hold on his new apprentice: a blood child would be an even more effective hostage than a wife.

He had failed to turn Skywalker against the Jedi, which was somewhat irksome, but it hardly mattered in the long run. Whether he obeyed orders out of vengeance or fear for his family, the result was the same. And hatred was hatred no matter who the target. Even now he could feel the boy's anger and resentment building. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hatred; wherever one started on the path, the destination was the same.

As it happened, he wasn't even having to manipulate the young couple any more. Amidala, predictably naïve and foolish as she was, was furious at her husband for aiding the Empire and stubbornly refused to understand his reasons for doing so. Naturally this left him hurt and bewildered, and angry at her for not listening. Everything was going splendidly.

Burning yellow eyes gleamed back at him from polished metal fixtures, and he grinned a very unpleasant grin. The word 'mercy' did not appear in his personal lexicon, and the next while promised to be full of opportunities not to grant it.

_Skywalker is mine: the Dark Side has claimed him. There can be no turning back, not now. It is already too late._

**XxXxXxX**

Anakin looked at his reflection in the mirror, and it took a great deal of self-control not to smash it.

Start with the clothes. Painfully similar to Jedi clothing, but entirely in black with a red sash around the waist. Black boots. Red lightsaber. Black cloak. Black, red, black, red…darkness and blood. A deep, vicious scar ran clean across one side of his face: the medic had informed him in a bored, distant tone that he'd be blind in his right eye for the rest of his life. Yes, they had cybernetic implants for that. No, he wasn't getting one. Emperor's orders.

It almost disturbed him that his lightsaber felt every bit as easy and natural in his hand as the old blue one had. He wondered what had become of his old lightsaber. He didn't allow himself to wonder what Obi-Wan would have made of him losing his weapon _again_. Thinking of Obi-Wan was…painful. He prayed his old master had made it safely out of the Temple. Off of Coruscant. The hell out of this mess.

He kept his face concealed at all times; all anyone else saw was a thin strip of scarred flesh, and a single burning yellow eye glaring out from the shadows of his cowl. It wasn't to protect his identity, not really. It was for the benefit of the misguided souls who still thought Anakin Skywalker a hero. He knew better.

_Men like Darth Vader live through times like these. Anakin Skywalker is dead._

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	9. Life and Choices

It's been ages, for which I apologise. Real life hasn't been co-operating at all.

**Chapter 9**

It was clearly a long time since any maintenance had been done on the ship; it wasn't far from falling apart completely. But it seemed reasonably free from rust, and none of the damage was on so grand a scale that they wouldn't be able to repair it themselves. It was perfect. They would have it operational inside six weeks if they worked hard, and then they would be untraceable. They had been able to buy it with money from the sale of the Jedi ship they had arrived in; to a scrap merchant who vowed it would be unrecognisable within a week, and no-one would ever find out who sold it to him. Rillien Tazir, the eldest of the Jedi refugees, had conducted the negotiations after finding himself apparently in charge. He was seventeen.

They had made quite a large profit on the day. A fair part of the money had been set aside as their budget for fixing up the ship, and more had gone on food supplies and nondescript clothing: gone were the Jedi robes and Padawan braids. They hadn't even tried to sell those – far too conspicuous. They had been quietly disposed of. But plenty more remained; enough, perhaps, to buy a cargo and begin the business of surviving in the real world.

So there they were. Over the past four weeks since leaving the Temple, they had made their way to the Hosk Station orbiting Kalarba: far enough from Coruscant that they would be safe for a while, but large and busy enough that they could pass unnoticed. No-one paid any notice to a ragged band of children and adolescents quietly working on a derelict ship. In the crowds, they were almost invisible.

"Right," Rillien said, jumping down from where he had been seated atop one engine port; "What do we have to do to get her in the air?"

"Well, the hull's torn in a few places," volunteered Tilo Navera, an adolescent female Twi'lek; "The cockpit needs completely rewired, a lot of engine parts will have to be replaced, the gantry in the cargo bay's close to falling down, and the airlock won't close properly.

There was a pause. Rillien stared up at the ship looming above them; "This might take longer than I thought."

"Better get started then," Tilo shrugged.

"Right…" Rillien rubbed his hands together and raised his voice; "Right, over here you lot. The first thing we're going to do is repair the tears in the hull. Jakren, Vanis, take some money and go buy us a few welding torches. The rest of you, we need scrap metal. Lots of it. If you can't find enough outside, start tearing down the inner walls we don't need. Hop to it!"

The young Jedi scattered to their tasks; quick and efficient as they'd been trained to be. Rillien caught Tilo's arm as she turned to leave; "Til, can you make a list of all the parts that need replaced? Come find me when you're done and we'll see what we can buy or trade from the scrap merchants." She departed with a swift nod, her blue _lekku_ bobbing behind her as she hurried off.

"Well then," Rillien murmured, then winced as a loud crash came from inside the ship followed by an explosion of curses that would have made a Toydarian blush. He closed his eyes, sighed gently, and made his way towards the source of the commotion.

It was going to be a long day.

**XxXxXxX**

Barriss had never liked space travel much. She hated being cooped up in a spacecraft with no room to stretch her legs and exercise. And under the current circumstances, barely able to move from her tiny bunk because of the injuries she had incurred in the purges, it was almost intolerable.

Still, at least they were off of Felucia, on a ship bound for Corellia. Barriss swore an oath that she would never return to that miserable, Force-forsaken planet again as long as she lived. She would have died there if it hadn't been for Aayla. She propped herself up on one elbow, biting back a whimper at the pain, and smiled at the Twi'lek Jedi curled up in a pile of blankets on the floor, shivering gently. She owed Aayla a great deal, but she didn't doubt that she would have ample opportunity to repay her over the coming years. With the Republic fallen and the Order disbanded, all they had was each other.

Her elbow slipped and she fell back against the bed, gasping in agony as her wounds were roughly jarred. In a flash Aayla was at her side. "Force's sake, Barriss, be _careful_!" the other female snapped, a veneer of irritation hiding very real concern. She wrapped an arm gently around Barriss' shoulders and helped her sit up; "Let me check your bandages…" With care and precision she unwrapped each length of rough cloth – they'd had no access to proper medical facilities, and weren't likely to any time in the foreseeable future – inspected the wounds beneath, and re-bandaged them.

"Sith, your hands are freezing."

"Well it's kriffing cold down there on the _freezing, hard, metal_ floor," Aayla muttered sardonically; "I hope I didn't inconvenience you _too_ badly. There: that's the last bandage, you're fine. Go back to sleep."

"Aayla?" She paused and looked round in the act of smoothing her blankets at the uncharacteristically hesitant tone in her friend's voice. Barriss had shifted back, making room – just barely – for two in the bunk.

Aayla tossed the blankets on top of the bunk and burrowed in beside her. It was warm.

**XxXxXxX**

For almost twenty minutes the Senator of Nak Shimar had droned interminably on, and Anakin was grateful that the shadows of his hood allowed him to glare with impunity. He looked discreetly at his chrono, which was also subjected to a venomous glare when he saw the time. To judge from the amused glances he kept getting from his Master (And how wrong it felt to use that phrase about anyone other than Obi-Wan) his impatience had not gone unnoticed.

"Lord Vader."

Although he'd had weeks to get used to the name, it still took Anakin a moment to realise that Sidious was talking to him. The wizened old man waved him over, and Anakin obediently positioned himself beside the grotesquely ornate chair in which he sat. The momentary look of outrage on the senator's face at being ignored was very satisfying. "I understand you have matters to attend to."

"True, my lord." _Hah! Understatement of the year!_

"Very well, you may go." And in an undertone he added; "If a glimpse of the child is what it will take to still your fidgeting, then so be it. Go." Anakin didn't need to be told twice. He left the room with an air of dignity, then the second he was certain no-one was watching him, broke into a run. He reached the medical centre in record time. Almost an hour ago now, a message had come through on his com to inform him that Padmé had gone into labour. His current quarrel with his wife notwithstanding, he was not going to be absent when his child was born. He only hoped he wasn't already too late.

The door to the medical centre was slightly ajar, and his heart gave an odd, painful twist at the unmistakable wailing emanating from within. So he had missed it. He closed the door quietly behind him as he entered.

Padmé was lying on a bed, asleep or unconscious, but Anakin barely noticed as the 2-1B droid explained that it had been a difficult birth which had left her very weak. All his attention was fixed on the tiny bundle of blankets cradled in the droid's arms. The droid turned the regard him with blank, distant eyes. "Healthy female child," it intoned, offering him the bundle.

"Leia," Anakin said, staring awestruck at the infant he held. His daughter ceased her shrill protestations abruptly and eyed him with far too much interest and alertness for a newborn baby. Then she made a contented gurgling sound and promptly fell asleep.

"Healthy male child," the droid added, and Anakin almost dropped the newly-christened Leia. _Twins_? The droid retrieved another bundle from the cot at the far side of the room, and for a moment Anakin was completely unable to remember the name he and Padmé had chosen for a son. _Luke. That was it: Luke_. The baby was already sleepy peacefully, seemingly undisturbed by the noise his sister had been making. Anakin sank into a chair before his legs could give out from under him.

_I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish my children weren't going to grow up under Sidious' rule._

Something about thatlast thought bothered him, and he stilled for a moment as he tried to work out what it was. Then it hit him: _children_. Sidious had said 'child' – singular. He didn't know Padmé had been carrying twins.

_I can get one of them away. Fix the droid's memory, and no-one will ever need to know there wasn't only one child._ His hands were shaking as he realised the enormity of the decision he would have to make. How could a father ever choose between his children? How could he do it, knowing that whichever he decided would stay behind would grow up at the heart of the Empire, at the mercy, just like him, of the Emperor. They would never know each other, one deprived of parents, both deprived of a sibling.

"I'm sorry," he told the baby sleeping in his arms; "I really am."

And then he got to work.

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	10. Moving On

**No updates in forever. Yes, I know - I suck**

**Chapter 10**

This section of the docks was the domain of the free traders, mismatched ships unloading cargoes of dubious legality in the discreet docking cradles at the lowest level of the spaceport. In the furtive bustle, no-one spared Obi-Wan a second glance.

His destination was the fourth berth on the north side of the spaceport. Two years ago the docking clamps on that particular berth had been badly damaged when a cargo of illegal firearms exploded. No-one had the time or money to spare for repairs, so ever since the incident it had been abandoned. It was out of the way; secluded, ignored…It was perfect. A long time ago they'd agreed on it as a meeting place 'just in case'. He had to concede that even their worst-case scenario hadn't been quite as bad as this, but at least they had been vaguely prepared on _some_ level.

The continued absence of any other sentient being at the meeting place was starting to worry Obi-Wan. For the six weeks since the attack on the Temple he'd held on to the belief that Anakin was alright, that they were going to get off Coruscant together and find somewhere safe to recover. He didn't want to think about what else might have happened, but if Anakin didn't show up…well. He was a Jedi. He'd spent his life training to rise above his emotions.

He looked up sharply at a flash of movement in the doorway, then sagged slightly at seeing the scruffy Mon Calamari boy slinking out of the shadows. To his surprise the boy fixed him with a calculating gaze and moved closer.

"Can I help you?" Obi-Wan asked, puzzled.  
"Depends," the little alien replied; "S'yer name?"  
"Why?"  
He hefted the package in his arms; "Guy gave me twenty cred to give this to someone called Ben, s'posed to be waiting here."  
"That's me," Obi-Wan replied, feeling a rush of hope at hearing the alias he'd used on undercover missions. The boy shrugged, set the package down on the ground, and ran off again.

He knelt to examine the package. It was maybe a foot long, a little wider in the other direction. He unwrapped the cloth around it and was confronted with a box; a fingerprint lock on the lid and a note taped to it. Obi-Wan lifted the note, and the knot in his chest uncoiled slightly as he recognized Anakin's untidy handwriting. _He's alive. He's alive. Thank the Force._

The note itself was typically short and devoid of any explanation whatsoever: '_Can't make it – leave without me. Take the box, but don't open it 'til you're off-planet. You'll see why. –Ani. PS: Sorry about this.'_

"What in the galaxy have you gotten yourself into now, Anakin?" he asked aloud in exasperation.

**XxXxXxX**

Tilo fastened the maintenance hatch back into place and wiped her oil-stained hands on her vest. "Okay, try it again," she called. In the cockpit, Rillien uttered a short prayer and tried once again to start the engine.

Immediately the ship began to vibrate gently, lights flickering on throughout and display screens lighting up. "Primary power systems online," Jakren Collehain reeled off from his seat at the co-pilot's console; "Secondary systems…dodgy but workable. Life support coming on…"

"Navigation?" Rillien asked.  
"No, but we can do that manually in any case."  
"Comms?"  
"Internal, yes. External, no."  
"Right. I'm going to try to fire up the main drive."  
"On standby with the fire extinguisher, Tilo," Jakren said sardonically.

Rillien ignored him and flipped the switch to start the subspace engines. He held his breath: in all their previous trial runs, this had been the part where the entire system shorted and things started exploding. Tilo thought she'd found the problem and fixed it. But then again, she'd thought that the last time too. The engine creaked and groaned as though in pain, and the bare circuitry in the stripped-down walls sparked ominously…

"Main drive online and functional!" Jakren crowed triumphantly as the frantic whine settled into a steady hum. He flipped the internal comms switch; "Hear that, everybody? We're in business!"

Cheers resounded through the ship – suggestions for her name included 'tin can', 'rustbucket', and 'old banger' – as the eleven young Jedi who had escaped the Temple together celebrated their small victory. Jakren whooped and punched the air, and Rillien slumped back in his seat with a huge grin on his face. Tilo walked proudly into the cockpit and set her hands on her hips; "I _told_ you I had it this time."

"You said that last time too," Rillien pointed out innocently. She ignored him, and he shrugged; "Alright then, back to work. What do we still have to do?"

Tilo and Jakren exchanged glances. "Well we need to seal up and do a pressure-check to see if the repairs to the hull and airlock will hold…" he began.  
"…and fix the transceiver array so we have external comms…" she added.  
"And take the hyperdrive for a test run…"  
"And tune up the secondary generator…"  
"And get the navigation computer working again…"  
"And secure that kriffing gantry…"  
"And clean the bunkroom. Seriously, it reeks in there."  
"And then once we have all _that_ done we need to find a cargo so we can start earning some money."

Rillien rubbed the back of his neck: just _hearing_ about all that needed to be done was making him tired. "Right then," he said slowly; "Tilo, you fix the generator. Jak, you can do the transceiver array. I'll run the pressure test and sweet-talk the computer. We'll set Vanis, Tometh, and Finula to secure the gantry…and then if the pressure-check comes up positive, we'll take the hyperdrive out for a spin. The younglings can be on cleanup detail. We need to get everything done…" He took in Tilo's slumped shoulders, the shadows under Jakren's eyes: "…tomorrow. We're all exhausted. It can wait 'til tomorrow." He felt a sting of guilt at the sheer relief on their faces. Had he really been driving everyone so hard?

Well…yes, actually, but not without good reason. They were vulnerable like this, without a spaceworthy vessel. The Empire's reach was growing every day: they couldn't afford to stay in one place for too long. Maybe the youngest ones couldn't see past the fact that they were being made to work constantly…but surely Jakren and Tilo understood? They must. He was just tired and frustrated and second-guessing himself.

The other two had left spread the word that they had a day off. Rillien pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to will away the headache nagging at his temples. Force, what a nightmare. But a day off was a day off no matter what the circumstances. And he fully intended to spend his sleeping.

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	11. Secrets

**I hadn't planned to update so soon, but I had this finished and the next one might not be for a good long while. Enjoy**

**Chapter 11**

The _Fifth Hand_ was a shabby bar in one of the rougher parts of Coronet: possibly the roughest part of Coronet. Darrin Cole knew this better than most – he'd just lost three of his crew to arrests made after brawls and another five had simply disappeared. Which left him eight hands short, with only a few days left before they shipped out to Yag'Dhul. He'd put word about that he was looking for crew, but he'd be lucky to fill half the free berths.

And that was only the ones they'd lost on Corellia. The _Pride of Bespin_ was a big ship, needing more than a hundred to run her properly. He was running with a skeleton crew as it was – after all the upheaval on Coruscant, this 'Empire' business, a lot of people wanted to be at home where they could protect their families if need be.

Darrin felt more than saw the eyes on him, turned in his seat to meet the steady gaze from the direction of the bar. The observer took this as a sign of some sort and crossed the room to take the seat opposite him.

"You Darrin Cole?"  
"Might be. Depends who's asking – and why."  
"I am. And I'm looking for work. Word is you're taking on crew."  
"You're asking me for a job?"  
"Not just me." A nod towards the bar, and a second would-be crewmember limped over to their table. Darrin crossed his arms and considered the two figures. They were both wrapped in layers of clothing, hoods obscuring their features. Race? Age? Gender? Anyone's guess. Darrin's eyes narrowed.  
"I like to see who I'm dealing with."

As it turned out, he was dealing with two women, both fairly young. One was obviously a Twi'lek. The other he wasn't quite sure about, though the tattoos looked familiar and gave him the feeling he _should_ know. Mirialan perhaps? They had a hard-edged, wary look about them that suggested they were more than capable of taking care of themselves, and he got the impression he would be hiring on two capable and hard-working people. But appearances could be deceiving.

"Either of you worked on a freighter before? The _Pride_'s quite a hulk, and she's not terribly forgiving on the inexperienced."  
"No," the Mirialan woman said; "Not a large ship. But we can both pilot and navigate, and speak more than a few languages."  
"My friend is injured," the Twi'lek added; "But I can manage any physical labour you need done."  
Darrin contemplated them for a moment. "You got names?"  
There was a moment of silence – the women exchanged glances. "I'm Alya," the Twi'lek said after a pause; "This is Baneth."

Darrin took another drink to cover his uncertainty. His gut told him these two were running from something, which was either a reason to help them or a reason to avoid getting involved, depending on your outlook. Or maybe he was just being paranoid, something of an occupational hazard for a long-time spacer. He sighed. A pair of hands was a pair of hands, and the crew situation was starting to get desperate. "Alright, I'll tell you what. I'll give you a chance. And if there's any unpleasantness or things don't work out, we'll drop you off at the nearest big port with no hard feelings, okay?"

Alya and Baneth gave him matching sharp grins from across the table. "Trust us," Baneth said; "You won't regret it."

**XxXxXxX**

Jedi spent years perfecting their trademark calm, patient state of mind. Which was lucky, really, because otherwise Obi-Wan wouldn't have been able to restrain himself from opening the box. He was having enough difficulty as it was. For days he'd exercised all the self-control he'd possessed, steadfastly refusing to open it as he whiled away the seemingly endless hyperspace ride to Eriadu aboard the clunking old craft whose captain had agreed to transport him. And finally the waiting was at an end. He checked one more time that the door of the room he'd rented was locked, and pressed his thumb against the scanner on the lid.

There was a pause as the locking mechanism considered him, then a faint click and hiss. The lid popped a fraction – enough for Obi-Wan to slide his fingers into the gap and pry it fully open. The box was mostly full of little foam pellets: the kind they used to cushion fragile items for transport. In amongst them were the two important objects. A sealed metal pod, one of the ones commonly used to store transplant organs in stasis. And a data chip which – he hoped – held a fuller explanation for all this.

He lifted the pod out of the box, only to gasp and almost drop it at the sudden Force presence radiating from it. A closer look at the box revealed it to be lined with a substance very familiar from the time he'd spent a prisoner of Asajj Ventress. Where had Anakin managed to get a box lined with Force-deadening material? And more to the point, what in the Sith hells was in the pod?

Obi-Wan activated the data-chip. It hummed gently, projecting a flickering hologram: the blue-tinted, semitransparent image of Anakin cleared his throat nervously and looked at a point somewhere to the left of Obi-Wan. He moved to be in the line of sight – he knew the recording couldn't see him anyway, but it made _him_ feel better.

"_Uh…I guess if you're hearing this then everything went more or less to plan. I mean not _exactly_ to plan, since this whole mess wasn't…okay, never mind. I suppose what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry for dragging you in to this, but there really wasn't any other way…_"

Obi-Wan stared. Anakin might be alive, but dear Force he was a _mess_. There was a half-healed blaster burn across the side of his face, and deeper, nastier wounds ran down across his right eye: the eye itself was swollen almost shut, misty and unfocussed. Bandages peeked out from beneath the loose shirt he was wearing.

"_You'll probably want to sit down: trust me, the later parts will be a bit of a shock. Firstly, I can't come and join you. I got shot in the Temple, captured, and…I don't know. The main thing is that I can't get away. I can move independently to a certain degree, but…oh Sith, it's not important anyway. See, I've kind of broken the Code a bit. Uh…okay, a lot." A humourless laugh; "I'm sort of glad I don't have to tell you this one in person. Can you open the pod now? I'll give you a moment to freak out before I continue." _

The hologram fell silent, and it was with a definite sense of trepidation that Obi-Wan unsealed the pod. With a caution born of long experience he didn't deactivate the stasis field: Anakin wouldn't _purposely_ send him something dangerous, but he'd learned that it never paid to assume anything when dealing with his former padawan. He carefully opened the lid of the pod…and felt his jaw drop.

It was a _baby_ of all things! A tiny human male curled, held quiescent by the stasis field, in a foetal position in the pod. Obi-Wan stared, utterly dumbstruck; "Anakin, what in the _name_ of the _Force_ have you _done_?!"

He turned to look accusingly at the hologram, which remained silent for a while longer before saying wryly; _"Hopefully you've finished cursing me by now. If not – and I don't blame you if you haven't – please try to listen to me at the same time. I really don't have time to go into detail, but…yes. He's my son. His name is Luke. I hate to drop this on you, but I didn't know what else to do, who else to turn to…" A distinct look of desperation had entered his eyes; "Just get him somewhere safe – please? I suppose you could go to Tatooine, Cliegg Lars might take him in if you explain that he's Shmi's grandson. Or…I don't know. Something. But whatever you do, it's too dangerous here. I've got one chance to get him away… Please. After that you never need to hear about this again. Just get him somewhere safe. And whoever you leave him with…could you explain why I can't be there? I have to stay behind, not for my sake, but…I don't want him to think I abandoned him. I know what it's like growing up without a father." A sigh; "I'm so sorry about this. Really. Goodbye, Master. And…_Force_…pray you never hear from me again."_

The hologram flickered and stopped, the image frozen at the end of the message with everything in expression and posture speaking of fear and pleading. Slowly Obi-Wan released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and reached out to turn off the recording. A shiver ran through him. Some of the message was clear enough, but the rest… What had happened to Anakin – why couldn't he leave? Was he still a prisoner? If so, how had he managed to smuggle a baby out of wherever he was? Who was the mother, and why couldn't she care for the child? Why should he pray that they never met again? And the most urgent question at the moment: what the kriffing Sith-hells was he going to do?

"Your father has left me with quite the dilemma," he told the slumbering child.

**XxXxXxX**

The soft leather soles of his boots were absolutely silent on the faux-marble floors of the Imperial Centre. All other personnel instantly cleared a path as the ominous, cloaked presence of Lord Vader strode through them with implacable determination. He was in a foul mood. He'd spent the last week on a wild bantha chase on Kashyyyk, only to be recalled when he finally seemed to be starting to make progress, and then wasted hours in interminable strategy meetings when he finally arrived on Coruscant.

Well nothing was going to get in his way now. The door to the medical bay slid open at his approach: he crossed the main room without so much as a glance at the CMO, and felt his mood lighten a hundredfold as he crossed the threshold of the largest private room.

Padmé was sleeping, pale and small-looking in the crisp white bed, but Leia woke up as soon as her father entered the room. She gave a small, demanding squeal, and he uncovered his face with a laugh. He lifted her up gently – she made a contented burbling noise and fisted one tiny hand in the fabric of his cloak – and settled into the seat beside his wife's bed.

Padmé's eyes fluttered open. "Ani?" she said sleepily.  
"Hey," he replied, smiling at her. Her eyes flickered down to baby Leia, drooling gently on her father's tunic, and the reciprocal smile was nothing short of radiant.  
"Oh, isn't that adorable. She's definitely your daughter."  
Anakin looked down at the tiny, drooling person in his arms; "I'm not sure how to take that."

Padmé smiled again, wan and tired this time. Anakin hadn't been able to make much sense of the medic's babbling, catching crucial phrases like 'difficult birth' and 'internal bleeding' but mystified as to how the whole fitted together. He met her eyes, and her expression turned serious.

"Ani…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so angry at you. I know you did what you did to protect me, and Leia. I was just furious that you would work for the Empire."  
"It's not like I wanted to," he shrugged; "But it was a straight choice and I couldn't choose the one that would cost your life. I know how much you believed in the Republic, you had a right to be angry…"  
"No I didn't. I was being a hypocrite, really, when I'd do worse to protect you or our baby." She narrowed her eyes at him; "Which reminds me. If something should happen to me, don't you _dare_ do anything stupid, you hear me? Your first priority is Leia – now and always. Understood?"

He raised an eyebrow: "Yes ma'am. But the same goes for you."  
She grinned at him; "I'm glad we agree. Now get over here and let me hold our daughter."

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	12. In Transit

**Chapter 12 - In Transit**

Rillien paused on the last step down to the cargo bay and clasped his hands behind his back. Ten sets of eyes looked expectantly back at him.

"Right then," he said; "We've done everything we can on the ground. It's time to take her out for a test run. The pressure test came up positive, the engines seem to be working…this is all we have left to do before we're fully operational. So listen carefully. Jak, you're piloting. Don't screw this up. Tilo, take Vanis and Tometh and man the engine room – we can't afford for anything to go wrong, so be on your toes. I want Finula on comms, and the rest of you spread throughout the ship to make sure nothing breaks or catches fire. Any problems?"

Various negatives were the only reply, until someone coughed. "No, but…what's she called?" Cheleka Rann, a tiny Mandalorian female of indeterminate age, asked seemingly out of the blue.  
Rillien blinked at her: "What?"  
"She's got a point," Tilo said thoughtfully; "It's supposed to be bad luck to fly in a ship with no name."  
"Take it we're not going with the _Rust Bucket_, then?" Jak's expression was a picture of mock resignation.  
"Shut up, Jak," Rillien said absently; "I'm open to suggestions…"

Immediately several were offered, but none of them felt quite right: Jakren's many and varied suggestions along the lines of _Tin Can_ and _Rattletrap_ were certainly not helpful. Rillien was on the point of declaring that they were flying out anyway and Sith take the bad luck, when Tilo cleared her throat and said softly; "How about the _Second Chance_?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Yes," Rillien said; "That's the one. Now come on, we've got work to do!" The sharp addendum sent the younger Jedi scurrying to their posts. A slight frown creased his features as he spotted Eban Valeni, who at four years old was the youngest of them. "Come here Eban!" RIllien called. He looked around quickly for Akaavi Lacuna and saw her climbing up the ladders to the gantry; "Aki, you too!"

Aki skidded to a halt in front of him moments later, the Twi'lek's bright purple skin the only real colour in the dull durasteel cargo bay. Eban took his place beside her with as much dignity as the little Mandalorian could muster. "Yes?" they chorused.  
For a moment Rillien could only stare. Four…and Aki only a year older. They were far too young to have to go through this. He gave himself a mental shake: "I want you two to go to the bunkroom and make sure everything stays secure while we're in flight, okay?"  
"Sure," Aki said brightly. She grabbed her friend's wrist; "Come on, Eban!"

Rillien watched them run off together before heading up to the cockpit. Of all the rooms on the ship the bunkroom was the least likely to present a threat, and that was precisely why he'd sent them there. He knew that soon they wouldn't be able to spare anyone from the dangers of the galaxy…but he would protect the younglings as much as he could. Apprehensive about the test flight, he ran a hand through his hair as he entered the cockpit. He settled into the co-pilot's chair and took a deep breath: Finula Takomi gave him a reassuring smile from her seat at the comms station, black Mirialan tattoos stark against her skin. Jakren wrapped steady hands around the controls.

The systems status readout booted up on the screen on front of Rillien and he focused intently on it, noting with relief that everything seemed to be in the green. Showtime.

"Right." He was shaking, nervous heat rushing through him to leave feverish chills in its wake. He swallowed and tried again; "Right. We seem to be operational. Fin, request permission to take off."  
She flipped a switch and leaned into the microphone; "Hosk Control, this is civilian freighter the_ Second Chance_ requesting permission to take off from bay twelve, copy?"  
"Copy that," a mechanically filtered voice replied; "What is your destination?"  
"Negative, no destination," Fin told the flight controller; "We have made extensive repairs to our sublight engines and need a test flight."  
"Clearance granted."  
"You heard them," Rillien said as she closed the channel; "Fire her up, Jak."

Jak closed his eyes for a moment as if in prayer and flipped the switches to channel power to the main engines. "Primary and secondary power systems online and functioning," Rillien reeled off; "Life support functioning…hull integrity normal…engine power levels constant…Fin, ask Tilo how they're doing down there."  
Fin switched to internal comms; "Tilo, is everything alright?"  
"_The cooling system's a little overheated, but that's not a major problem. No fires, no surges…I really think we're okay._"

The ship was humming beneath their feet, vibrations running through her. The crew was silent, hoping, as Jak gently pulled the controls back to take her up. A faint but unmistakable clang rang through the ship – the docking clamps had released them. Ahead, the star-touched black of space beckoned them from the other side of the shields. They sailed neatly out of the docking bay and in to the emptiness beyond

The comm beeped: "_Everything's stable_," Tilo reported; "_Alright, Jak – let's see what she can do._"

**XxXxXxX**

It was quite uncanny how every spaceport in the galaxy started to look exactly the same after a while. Obi-Wan stared blearily at the sign above the doors, trying to work out what language it was in. Four weeks bouncing from ship to ship in a bid to stay under the radar and he'd managed even to lose track of what planet he was on. What a sight he must look: still dressed in the scruffy fifth-hand clothes he'd acquired on Coruscant, a bag slung over his shoulder and a small child perched on his hip. In a bid to be less recognisable he'd shaved his beard – and Force how strange a bare face felt after so long – and let his hair grow out. He thought it made him look younger.

Luke gave an unhappy whimper, and he patted the boy absently. After a while he made enough sense of the sign to realise that they'd ended up on Falleen. It wasn't too far to Tatooine: he could have Luke safely with his relatives within a week if things went well. Obi-Wan bought a mysterious spicy pastry from a stall run by a wizened Kiffar woman, who took pity on him and threw in milk for Luke free of charge. She also scolded him for carting his 'poor son' around the galaxy when everything was in such a mess.

"He's not my son," Obi-Wan explained wearily; "His father is a friend of mine, and he disappeared during the upheavals on Coruscant. I'm taking the boy to his family on Tatooine."  
"Oh." The old woman's expression softened and she leaned forward, lowering her voice. "In that case, you'll want to go to the nineteenth berth on the north side and look for a ship called the _Lucky Break_. Captain Farfarer does the Tatooine run. He's a good man – won't see any harm come to his passengers."  
"Thank you," Obi-Wan said, profoundly grateful. He'd been slightly concerned about the logistics of defending himself from unsavoury types with a seven-week-old baby in tow.  
"Well, on you go then!" she said, waving him off. Without another glance at him she turned to her next customers, a pair of exhausted-looking Bothans.

Luke made another small, disapproving sound. Obi-Wan bounced him slightly on his hip, vaguely recalling the same thing being done to him as a child when he was fretting. _Not to worry, Luke_, he thought gently at the boy; _we'll have you with your family and safe soon enough._ The look he received in return was disconcertingly knowing.

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	13. Seven Years

_Yes, I haven't updated in forever. Yes, I have excuses. Don't worry though - I'm just going to shut up and let you read._

**Chapter 13**

Barriss dropped her bag on her bed with a satisfied groan and rubbed at her side absently. Without proper medical care, her blaster wounds had never really healed properly – they still ached at times.

"Tough day?" Aayla asked, glancing up from the datapad in her hand.  
Barriss sank onto the bottom bunk, looking exhausted. "Meteor storm in the Kuat Sector – that whole section of the Hydian Way is off limits. It took us all day to plot a new course."  
"Sounds fun."  
"Oh, very. How about you?"  
"We lost Chen Fala. Bar fight. I've had to take over his job for the time being."  
"Dead man's boots, hmm? I suppose there's worse ways to get a promotion."

The conversation petered out into silence, Aayla frowning thoughtfully at the datapad, Barriss half-dozing on her bunk. The room they'd been assigned aboard the _Pride of Bespin_wasn't much. Bunk beds, a narrow cupboard, a table and two chairs bolted to the floor, and a 'fresher in the corner. If she stood in the middle of the floor she could touch two opposing walls without much of a stretch. No window: on a freighter that would have been a ridiculous extravagance.

It was only ever supposed to be temporary, working passage to the outer rim and maybe picking up some extra money along the way. And yet somehow, seven years on…there they were. Aayla had brought it up, worried, on the impromptu shore leave they'd been granted on the one year anniversary of them signing on. Barriss had shrugged and pointed out that a moving target was harder to hit.

The door slid open. Barriss was sound asleep, but Aayla looked up at the newest arrival. Standing in the doorway was a wiry Mandalorian man with streaks of silver in his hair and cybernetic implants spidering across the right half of his face: Palek Harr, the Quartermaster. On their first day aboard ship he'd assigned them their duties, watching them with a coolly assessing gaze as though silently assigning them mental labels. There was a datapad always in his hand, twin to Aayla's, facts and figures dancing ceaselessly back and forth across the screen.

"Vaartha," he said; "Got a moment?"  
"Sure," Aayla replied, following him out into the corridor to avoid waking Barriss. After all this time she was comfortable in the new identity she'd made for herself: Alya Vaartha, acting head trader of the _Pride of Bespin_. It wasn't a bad life.  
"Have you arranged to take on supplies for the crew yet?" he asked.  
"No, not yet," she replied. "Why? Is there a problem?"  
"Not exactly. We're taking on passengers at Kalarba, apparently, so we'll need to take on more food as well."  
"Passengers?" Aayla frowned; "We're not doing that badly, are we?"  
"No, but…" he cast a glance over his shoulder; "Have you got time for a drink?"  
It didn't take much of a struggle for her curiosity to get the better of her. "Alright then."

She was half expecting him to lead the way off ship and into the maze of streets around the docks, but instead they ended up in the cargo hold, right in amongst stacks of crates and barrels. Here, right beneath the engine's main heat exchange, the air was warm and wet and heavy. Aayla was reminded uncomfortably of Felucia's damp, steaming wilds. The feel of durasteel beneath her boots was unmistakable though, and the dull humming roar of the engine was all pervasive, a sound so deep as to be more felt than heard.

"Harr," she said, "What is it?"  
"Patience, patience," he told her: he sat comfortably on the edge of a crate and leaned down to produce a bottle from behind a section of piping. He took a long drink and eyed her contemplatively. "When you've been in the business a long time, you get to know a few…people. People who know people, if you catch my drift."  
"I see," Aayla said.  
"I'll bet you do." Harr looked vaguely amused as he passed her the bottle. "Well I may or may not have a few friends in useful places on Coruscant. Governments come and go, but there'll always be bureaucrats." He waved a hand at their surroundings; "That's why we're here. Never know who might overhear something."  
"And?" Aayla had an exploratory sniff at the neck of the bottle. Her eyes watered, but she took a sip before passing it back.  
"The thing is, the Empire isn't really happy with all the independent traders floating around out there. They want – or so my friends tell me – to control all shipping themselves. But there's too many of us to get rid of, especially when we're not doing anything. So they're bringing in a fancy new shipping license."  
"I take it there's more to this that filling out a few forms," Aayla said dryly.  
"Knew you were a smart one, Vaartha. There's a one-off payment. License fee."  
"How much?"

He told her.  
She stared. She asked him to repeat himself.  
He assured her grimly that she'd heard right the first time.

"None of the independents have a hope of getting that together on short notice," she said in a sort of awestruck horror. "Even the big firms might have problems."  
"And those that are left, the Empire can just buy out. A few years after this goes through it'll be Imperial freighters, a few stubborn types, and a whole lot of smugglers."  
"How long do we have?" Aayla asked.  
"A couple of years, according to my sources. Three at the outside. We're going for damage limitation: spread the word to give people as much time as possible. And our friends on the inside are trying to keep the price low and the renewal time as long as possible."  
Aayla was staring at nothing, calculating best- and worst- case scenarios for profit margins, expenses, cargo availability, and a few dozen other factors. "We might make it," she said eventually; "Maybe. But every credit's going to count."  
"S'why I thought I'd tell you," Harr replied, "With Chen Fala gone you're buying in cargo for us. Make it good, Vaartha. We need your best right now."  
She nodded, determined. "Then that's what you'll get."  
"I thought so," he looked satisfied; "On you go, back to your bunk. Rest while you've got the chance." He gave the bottle an affectionate pat. "If you need me, I'm not going anywhere."

Aayla made her way back through the ship's corridors in a thoughtful frame of mind, absently acknowledging crew as she passed them. She locked the door of their small berth behind her and leaned against it for a moment. If word did spread about this, competition was going to be cutthroat for the foreseeable future. She could have imagined a better start to her promotion.

She didn't spare a glance for the neatly made, neglected upper bunk, instead pulling the blankets of the lower aside and burrowing in beside Barriss. What had started out as a necessity in the aftermath of the Purges, both of them injured and in shock and suffering from graphic nightmares, had become a habit and evolved into something else…a comfort that neither was willing to give up.

"Need a bigger bed," Barriss muttered sleepily, shifting in closer to the wall to make room.  
"Baneth," Aayla said quietly – the new names fit comfortably now – her forehead leaning in to rest against Barriss's collarbone; "We've got problems."  
Barriss's arms tightened fractionally around her, one hand stroking her _lekku_ gently. "Then we'll deal with them. Now tell me everything."

**XxXxXxX**

It was a school of the small and extremely exclusive type, the fees more than the average person earned in a year. It had been attended by the children of the most powerful people in the Republic and the change in its clientele, following the shift in power to the Empire, had been nearly seamless. Regardless of who precisely was in power, the students were much the same. Children of privilege tended to be very similar.

They were brats for the most part, Ikila Rai thought privately, though of course she would never say such a thing. She had her job to think of, and it was better to teach the younger students than the adolescents who'd had more time to grow into their superiority complexes. But there was the son of the Falleen ambassador holding court at one of the tables, Antya Pestage managing to radiate arrogance even half-asleep…

A lone figure in the back corner caught her eye, and she frowned. Now there was an odd one. Leia Vader. Daughter of one of the most powerful and feared men in the Empire – second only to the Emperor himself, it could be said – and yet she had a distinct tendency to fade into the background. There was none of the bragging or casual contempt displayed by most of the others: she quietly excelled at her studies and only spoke if spoken to first.

At first it had been easy to dismiss her behaviour as aloofness, simply a subtler kind of arrogance, but she was unfailingly polite on the rare occasions she became involved in a conversation. Well, except for that one time…

Ikila allowed herself a faint smile. Only once had the child shown that she had inherited the fiery temper her father was notorious for. Ikila had been interrupted at her grading by a sudden burst of shouting. By the time she got there it was already over: Leia standing calmly with a sharp-edged smile on her face and Antya Pestage in floods of tears.

She never had got to the bottom of that one. Both onlookers and participants had been strangely silent on the matter.

At the end of the day Ikika stood at the door to the landing platform outside and watched the children be collected by a succession of nannies and child-minders. It was a major part of her job to be discreet, another cog in the face-saving machinery that a worrying proportion of the galaxy's elite needed on a regular basis, but…she was curious by nature. And there was nothing wrong with a little harmless speculation.

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	14. Grapevine

**To ObiBettina7: _I was just noting that most of my stories tend to take detours into slash territory from time to time. At the moment we've got Aayla/Barriss going on...as for any other pairings, it's really a matter of seeing how the story evolves.  
_To Mo Angel: _I know I'm unlikely to get back the reader numbers I had before, but I'm happy with the reviews I'm getting. And as far as the gap in posting goes, right now my studies are more important to me. I will write and update as and when I have time._**

**Chapter 14**

"_This is Malastare Control. Please identify yourself._"  
"Malastare Control, this is civilian freighter _The Second Chance_ requesting entry vector," Finula replied. She paused, hand over the booster, waiting for a reply.  
"_Confirmed. Please proceed on 331-027-ACS to your current heading._"  
"You heard the man, Jak," Rillien said, leaning back in his seat. "Take her down."  
"Yessir, taking her down sir" Jakren said sarcastically. He flipped the comm link to the engine room; "Deploying air brakes. Fire up the retros, Til."  
"_Roger. On it_."

Jak looked over his shoulder. "Watch close, Eban." The youngest of their number had displayed a talent for piloting and Jak was training him. He was currently ensconced in the co-pilot's seat, the chair seeming ridiculously large in comparison to the eleven-year-old seated in it. Eban nodded and fixed his eyes intently on the control panel.

The ship began to shake is she hit the atmosphere, air brakes and retro-fitted engines slowing her descent. The heat-shields glowed a dull, sooty orange. The space lanes were unusually crowded for an outer rim planet, everything from one-man planet hoppers to hulks the size of cities orbiting to wait for their descent vectors. Rillien frowned at the screen in front of him.

"It shouldn't be this busy," he said; "Have we missed something?"  
"It's the Vinta Harvest Classic in a few days," Finula reminded him.  
Jakren glanced away from the controls. "Isn't podracing illegal?"  
"Someone might want to tell _them_ that."

Ground control guided them to a berth in one of the shabbier districts of Pixelito, the capital city. Jakren set the craft down with the ease of familiarity and shut off the atmospheric engines. All around them the whirr of machinery quieted as Tilo continued the shutdown in the engine room, and the crew in the cockpit began unstrapping themselves. They gathered in the cargo bay, standing or sitting in amongst the crates of Corellian brandy that were their latest cargo. Rillien didn't miss the hopeful looks shot at the door: he mentally ran over what had to be done while they were in port, and who'd gone ashore last time.

"Right," he said; "Jak, Tometh, you're with me. We're going to go contact our buyer. Vanis, you and Finula go and stock up on supplies for us. Til...do we need any parts? Thought so – Zel, Akaavi, go with her. That leaves Ti-Ena, Eban, and Cheleka on first watch. Don't look at me like that, you were off first last time. You'll be relieved in four hours."  
As they went to leave, Rillien caught Tilo's arm; "We'll go for a drink later, you, me, and Jak. Give us a call when you're finished."  
"Will do," she replied, dipping a brief nod. "Good luck."

It took an unusually short time to complete the transaction: barely an hour later they were standing in their cargo hold, watching the buyer's men unloading the crates. Rillien made a mental note to remember this particular buyer, a male Twi'lek named Narec Ashura. It wasn't unusual for the buyer to attempt to double-cross the seller, or vice versa – a nasty blaster-burn scar on Jak's cheek stood mute testament to this, a memento from a deal gone sour some three years hence. It paid to keep track of reliable business partners.

Jak and Rillien elected to stand back and let Tometh direct the unloading. He had been twelve when they fled the Temple, a scared padawan mourning a Master recently killed in the Clone Wars: now at nineteen he was a reliable crewmember. Rillien, Jak, and Tilo had taken leadership of their little band of refugees early on, but they recognized the wisdom of having someone to replace them should the worst happen. That was why Jak was training Eban to fly, why Tilo had taken Zel and Akaavi under her wing to teach them the workings of the ship systems. They couldn't afford for anyone to be indispensable.

Rillien's wrist-comm crackled: he held out his arm and Tilo appeared, pale blue and flecked with static. "_I'm finished. Aki and Zel are taking the parts back to the ship._"  
"Good," he replied; "Where will we meet you?"  
_"There's a bar called the Twin Sun. It's not far – you can't miss it."  
_"Okay. See you there." Rillien flipped the comm switch off.  
"Shall we?" Jak said.  
"Sounds like a plan," Rillien agreed. He turned to those of the crew who were hanging around. "We'll be gone a while. Tometh, Zel, and Finula have second watch."

The streets of Pixelito were every bit as crowded as the skies above it. Being the taller and broader of the two, Jak went in front to clear a path. He had always been tall, easily topping six feet, but seven years of shipboard life – lifting crates, moving machinery, fighting when deals went bad – had given him impressive muscle mass. That combined with his confident swagger and blaster strapped to his hip, the scarring across his cheek, most would think twice before coming up against him.

Rillien had never achieved that sort of height, and his build was naturally slight, but he had an intimidating air all his own when necessary. Together with Tilo – who had adapted to the use of a blaster in place of a lightsaber with almost frightening speed – they were a force to be reckoned with in the world of spacers and smugglers. They were developing something of a reputation.

The Twin Sun turned out to be every bit as impossible to miss as Tilo had said. Mainly due to the huge, glowing sign hanging above it. The bar was also busy, but Tilo had managed to keep a booth free by sheer force of stubborn aloofness. Her demeanour relaxed as she spotted Jak and Rillien – they made their way through the crowd to join her.

"First round's mine," she said, pushing two glasses towards them.  
"That's an idea I can get behind," Jak grinned and slid into the seat beside her. Rillien sat opposite them.  
"How did the sale go?" Tilo asked.  
"Smoothly," Rillien replied; "We'll have to deal with Ashura again."  
"We kept some of the brandy," Jak said with a grin; "I feel a party coming on tonight."  
"Jak…"  
Jak rolled his eyes; "Yeah, yeah, I know. Behaviour unbecoming of a J-" Here he caught himself; "Uh, responsible member of society. Or something like that. But we've been working hard. It'd do us good to let off steam."  
"He has a point," Tilo said quietly. She looked around warily and lowered her voice further, leaning in to avoid being overheard. "The Order is _gone_, Rillien. There is no Code any more – the younger ones barely remember the Temple. What exactly do you expect to happen if we let go and have a little fun?"

Rillien sighed. He knew they were right, but it was hard to let go of the Jedi mindset that had been instilled in them. Or rather it was hard for _him_. Tilo seemed to have adapted easily enough, and there were times when he privately wondered if the Force had ever really intended Jakren to be a Jedi. It was true enough that the youngest of them had only the vaguest of memories of the Temple. He couldn't count the times one of them had mentioned a specific Master or lesson or place only to be met with politely mystified stares.

"You're right," he admitted. "It's just…old habits, you know?"  
"I know," Tilo said, looking down at her drink. She brightened; "We should stick around for a few days to see the Classic."  
"Yeah!" Jak enthused. "I've always wanted to see a live podrace." He cast a glance at his own drink, now empty, and nudged the glass towards Rillien with a hopeful look. Tilo noticed and drained her own drink.

Rillien gave a resigned shrug and went to get the next round.

When he came back to the table they were discussing their respective protégées. Jak was happily recounting Eban's last turn at the controls, unfazed by Tilo's dry commentary about how much more considerate than him Eban was of the engine couplings.

"How about yours?" Rillien asked, sliding their drinks over to them; "How are Zel and Aki doing?"  
"Aki's a natural," Tilo said, glowing with quiet pride; "Zel…not so much, but he learns fast. They could probably keep the ship ticking over on their own. I'm not sure if they could handle an emergency yet, though." She coughed discreetly. "How's the…other training going?"  
"It's a bit hit-and-miss, but I suppose that's only to be expected. Especially since we're all teaching each other." He sighed. "Even the best of us only know so much. We weren't ready for the Trials then, and that's not magically going to change."  
"At least we can give everyone a thorough grounding in the basics," Jak shrugged. "It isn't as though we can use what we know in public anyway."

They finished that round in companionable silence. It was nice to relax away from the ship and the responsibilities she symbolised. Jak bought the next round in, and Rillien didn't miss the way his arm slid around Tilo as he sat back down. He tried not to speculate on exactly how far their disregard for the Code went. And they weren't even the worst of it. He had no idea how the Masters had dealt with a Temple full of adolescent padawans: there had been some rather suspect behaviour between Vanis and Finula, Tometh was making eyes at Cheleka, and Aki, who'd just hit puberty, tended to blush every time Jak walked into the room. Rillien was tempted to wash his hands of the whole mess and turn a blind eye.

When Tilo returned with their fourth round, she was frowning.  
"You were gone a while," Jak observed.  
"Guess what a little bird just told me," Tilo said.  
"Well don't keep us in suspense."  
"They're bringing in a new shipping license."  
Rillien patted the pocket where he kept his faked identification; "Looks like Captain Almek gets to have another outing. We'll find somewhere remote to renew it. No problem."  
"Problem," Tilo said grimly. "Wait 'til you hear how much it costs…"

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